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combined with SCIINCE f\mj^ stories 



FEATURE NOVEL 
by L. Sprague de Camp 



FEATURE NOVEL 

by Poul Anderson 









(ALUNG 



hair 



NOTHING, Absolutely nothing 
known to Science can do more to 



SAVE YOUR 

HAIR 

Beware of your itchy scalp, hair loss, dandruff, head scales, un- 
pleasant head odors! Nature may be warning you of approaching 
baldness. Heed Nature’s warning! Treat your scalp to scientifically 
prepared Ward's Formula. 

Millions of trouble-breeding bacteria, living on your sick scalp 
(see above) are killed on contact. Ward’s Formula kills not one. 
but all lour types of these destructive scalp germs now recognized 
by many medical authorities as a significant cause of baldness. 
Kill these germs— don’t risk letting them kill your hair growth. 

ENJOY THESE 5 BENEFITS IMMEDIATELY 

1 . Kills these 4 types of germs that retard normal hair growth- 
on contact 

2. Removes ugly infectious dandruff — /asY 

3. Brings hair-nourishing blood to scalp — gu/c/c/y 

4. Stops annoying scalp itch and burn — /nsfan^/y 

5- Starts wonderful self-massaging action— w/7/iin 3 seconds 

Once you're bald, that’s i t, friends! There’s nothing you can do. 
Your hair is gone forever. So are your chances of getting it back. 
But Ward’s Formula, used as directed, keeps your sick scalp free 
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Almost at once your hair looks thicker, more attractive and alive. 

We don't ask you to believe us. Thousands of men and women— 
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Then try Ward’s Formula at our risk. Use it for only 10 short days. 
You must enjoy all the benefits we claim— or we return not only the 
price you pay— but DOUBLE YOUR MONEY BACK. You be 
the judge!eWard Laboratories, Inc., 1430 Bdw’y St., New York 18 N. Y. 

TO SAVE YOUR HAIR ACT NOW 

Send coupon today for lO-day offer Send No Money 

ACT TODAY or YOU MAY BE TOO 



1 must admit I didn't have much 
faith in it, but I hadn't been using 
Ward's one week before I could see 
it was helping me. I could feel my 
hair getting thicker 

E. K.. C/evefand, O-'wo 
Out of all the Hair Experts I went 
to. I've gotten the mosi help from 
one bottle of Ward's Formula 

C..La M.. Philadelphia. Pa. 



After using Ward's for only 12 days, 
my hair has stopped falling out. 

R W. C., Cicero, III. 

I am tickled to death with the re- 
sults. In just two weeks’ time— no 
dar\drofl! W. T. W., Por>ola, Cal. 

I feel encouraged to say that the in- 
furiating scalp Itch which ha’s both- 
ered me for 5 years is now gone. 

/- M. X., Columbus, Ohio 



of pn„ '"''-.s you , 









I Ward loborotories, Inc. 

* 1430 Bdw’y St., Dept (4 D New York 18 N Y 
I Rush Word's Formula to me Qi once I will pay postmon Iwo 
. dollors plus postage, i must be completely solisfied wilhirt 
I 10 doys. O' you GUARANTEE refund of DOUBLE MY MONEY 
BACK upon return of bottle and unused portion. 



Nome • I 

Address - | 

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□ Check here if you enclose S2 00 with order, and we will pay posioge Same refund 

offer holds, of course. APO. FPO. Ciinucla i.~ Fnn inn mM 50u, no COD'. | 



DOUBLE 



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How 





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G Spanish □ Stenography 

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Name_ 
City 



Present Position 
Length of Service in 
World WarH_ 



-Employed by_ 



—Working Kca.'S- 



Enrollmenl under G.i. Bill approved for World War ii Veterens. Special tuition rates to members of the Armed Forces. 
_ Canadan residents send coupon to International Correspondence Schools Canatfien, Ltd., Montreal. Canada. 



3 




★ J'&jcdwm TIdvaIa 

WIDE-OPEN PLANET L Sprague de Camp 8 

Felix Borel plays cat-and-mouse with interplanetary regulations to make a "killing” 
on Krishna. Only Borel is likely to b« the killed one, 

THE LONG RETURN Poul Anderson 64 

Thornton, pacifist; Moss Henry, Earth fighting man, and Uincozuma, Venusian 
militarist, find themselves unwilling allies in a crisis. 

★ Tlovidsd 

FLIGHT FROM TOMORROW H. Beam Piper 36 

Hradzka, deposed tyrant of tomorrow, returns to the "past” to fulfill a strange 
destiny — stranger than he ever dreamed. 

★ Shjo/d StoJiIsLA and 0£paJdmjLni& 

EDITORIAL Robert W. Lowndes 50 

INVITATION FROM THE STARS Morton Klass 51 

A strange being comes with an explanation of the flying saucers, to give humanity 
an examination and an invitation . . . and a judgment ! 

ITERATION C. M. Kornbluth 60 

Bigger and better soap-operas bring wide-spread, lasting results — but rw)t exactly 
what the producers anticipated . . . 

TODAY AND TOMORROW (Forecast) 63 

READERS’ PREFERENCE COUPON 81 

Cover by I..eo Morey Robert W. Lowndes, Editor 

Interior illustrations by Finlay, Lawrence, Luros, and Murphy. 



FUTURE COMBINED WITH SCIENCE FICTION STORIES, published bi-monthly by COLUMBIA PUBLICA- 
TIONS, INC., 1 Appleton Street. Holyoke. Masj. Biditoriel and executive officee at 241 Church Street, New 
York 1.1. New York. Second class entry applied for at the Post Office In Holyoke. Mass. Bntire content* 
copyright 1950 by Columbia Publications. Inc. l»c per copy; yearly subscription 90c. When submitting man* 
uecrip&. enclose stamped, self-addresssed envelope for their return. If found unavailable. The publishers will 
•setose care In the handling of unsolicited manuscripts, but a.s9ume no responsibility for their return. 

Printed in tlM U.S.A. 



4 





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7 




WIDE-OPEN 

PLANET 

FEATURE NOVEL 

by JL. Spray t§e 
de Camp 

(illustration by Finlay) 



8 




Interplanetary law was strict: 
Planets like Krishna were to be 
considered static civilizations, and 
Earthmen were forbidden to in- 
troduce any machinery or mechan- 
ical improvements there. Any 
progress must come from the na- 
tives themselves. But to men like 
Felix Borel, Krishna was a wide- 
open planet for the imaginative 
entrepeneur. And Borel had a pro- 
gram well suited to the maze of 
intrigue and double-cross that was 
Krishn(fs politics and social mi- 
lieu! 



Borel stood helplessly, holding his spear poised, 
mouth hanging open. 



9 




10 



FtJTVRE combined wifh SCiEX€E FiCTiON STOMMEft 



Y GOOD Senhor,” 
said Abreu, “where the 
devil did you get 
those? Raid half the Earth’s pawn- 
shops?’’ He bent closer to look at 
the decorations on Felix Borel’s 
chest. “Teutonic Order, French 
Legion of Honor, Third World 
War, Public Service Award of North 
America, Fourth Degree of the 
Knights of St. Stephen, Danish Or- 
der of the Elephant, something-or- 
other from Japan, Intercollegiate 
Basketball Championship, Pistol 
Championship of the Policia do Rio 
de Janeiro. . . Tamates, what a col- 
lection ! 

Borel smiled sardonically down 
on the fat little security officer. 
“You never can tell. I might be a 
basketball champion.’’ 

"What are you going to do, sell 
these things to the poor ignorant 
Krishnans?” 

“I might, if I ran short. Or maybe 
I’ll just dazzle them so they’ll give 
me whatever I ask for.’’ 

“Humph. I admit that in that 
private uniform, with all those med- 
als and orders, you’re an awe- 
inspiring spectacle.’’ 

Borel, amusedly watching Abreu 
fume, knew that the latter was sore 
because he had not been able to find 
any excuse to hold Borel at No- 
vorecife. Thank God, thought Borel, 
the universe is not yet so careafully 
organized that personal influence 
can’t perform a trick or two. He 
would have liked to do Abreu a bad 
turn if for ho better reason than 
that he harbored an irrational pre- 
judice against Brazzies, as though 
it were Abreu’s fault that his na- 
tive country was the Earth’s leading 
power. 

Borel grinned at the bureaucrat. 
"You’d be surprised how helpful 
this — uh — costume of mine has been. 
Flunkeys at spaceports assume I’m 
at least Chief of Staff of the World 
Federation. ‘Step this way, Senhor! 
Come to the head of the line, Sen- 
hor!’ More fun than a circus.” 
Abreu sighed. “Well, I can’t stop 
you. I still think you’d have a better 
chance of survival disguised as a 
Krishnan, though,” 



“And wear a green wig, and false 
feelers on my forehead? No thanks.” 
“That’s your funeral. However, re- 
member Regulation 368 of the In- 
terplanetary Council rules. You 
know it?” 

“Sure. ‘It is forbidden to commu- 
nicate to any native resident of the 
planet Krishna any device, appliance, 
machine, tool, weapon, or invention 
representing an improvement upon 
the science and technics already in 
existence upon this planet...’ Want 
me to go on?” 

“Nao, you know it. Remember that 
while the Viagens Inter pi anetarias 
will ordinarily let you alone once 
you leave Novorecife, we’ll go to 
any length to prevent and punish any 
violation of that rule. That’s Council 
orders.” 

Borel yawned. “I understand. If 
the type has finished X-raying my 
I’ll he pushing off. What’s 
the best route to Mishe at present?” 
“You could go straight through 
the Koloft Swamps, but the wilder 
tribes of the Koloftuma sometimes 
kill travellers for their goods. You’d 
better take a raft down the Pichide 
to Quo, and follow the road south- 
west from there to Mishe.” 

. .“Obrigado. The Republic of Mik- 
ardand is on a gold standard, isn’t 
it?” 

“Pois sim." 

“And what’s gold at Novorecife 
worth in terms of World Federation 
dollars on Earth?” 

"Oh, Deus meu! That takes a high- 
er methematician to calculate, what 
with freight and interest and the 
balance of trade.” 

“Just approximately,” persisted 
Borel. 

“As I remember, a little less than 
two dollars a gram.” 

Borel stood up and shook back 
his red hair with a characteristic 
gesture. He gathered up his papers. 
‘‘Adeus, Senhor Cristovao; you’ve 
been most helpful.” 

He smiled broadly as he said this, 
for Abreu had obviously wanted to 
be anything but helpful and was still 
gently simmering over his failure 
to halt Borel’s invasion of Krishna. 




WIDE-OPEN PLANET 



11 



T he next day found Felix 

Borel drifting down the Pichide 
on a timber-raft under the tall 
clouds that paraded across the green- 
ish sky of Krishna. Next to him 
crouched the Kolofty servant he had 
hired at Novorecife, tailed and mon- 
strously ugly. 

A brisk shower had just ended. 
Borel stood up and shook drops off 
his cloak as the big yellow sun 
struck them. Yerevats did likewise, 
grumbling in broken Gozashtandou : 
“If master do like I say, put on 
poor man clothes, could take tow- 
boat and stay close to shore. Then 
when rain come, could put up tar- 
paulin. No get wet, no be afraid 
robbers.” 

“That’s my responsibility,” replied 
Borel, moving about to get his cir- 
culation going again. He gazed off 
to starboard, where the low sh'^re of 
the Pichide broke up into a swarm 
of reedy islets. “What’s that?” he 
asked, pointing. 

“Koloft Swamps,” said Yerevats. 
“Your people live there?” 

“No, not by river. Further back. 
By river is all u/ero.” (He gave the 
Koloftou name for the quasi-human 
people of the planet, whom most 
Earthmen thought of simply as 
Krishans because they were the 
dominant species.) “Robbers,” he 
added. 

Borel, looking at the dark horizon- 
tal stripe of reeds between sky and 
water, wondered if he’d been wise 
to reject Yerevats’s advice to buy the 
full panoply of a garm or knight. 
Yerevats, he suspected had been hop- 
ing for a fancy suit of armor for 
himself. Borel had turned down the 
idea on grounds of expense and 
weight ; suppose o^ne fell into the 
Pichide in all that stove-piping? Al- 
so, he now admitted to himself, he 
had succumbed to Earthly prejudice 
against medieval Krishman weapons, 
since one Earthly bomb could easily 
wipe out a whole Krishnan city and 
one gun mow down a whole army. 
Perhaps he hadn’t given enough 
weight to the fact that where he was 
going, no Earthly bombs or guns 
would be available. 

Too late now for might-have- 
beens. Borel checked over the arm- 



ament he had finally bought : a 
sword for himself, as much a badge 
of status as a protection. A cheap 
mace with a wooden handle and a 
star-shaped iron head for Yerevats. 
Sheath-knives of general utility for 
both. Finally, a crossbow. Privately 
Borel, no swashbuckler, hoped that 
any fighting they did would be at 
as long a range as possible. He had 
tried drawing a longbow in the Out- 
fitting Shop at Novorecife, but in his 
unskilled grip it hobbled about too 
much, and would have required more 
practice than he had time for. 

Borel folded his cloak, laid it on 
his barracks bag, and sat down to go 
over his plans again. The only flaw 
he could see lay in the matter of 
getting an entree to the Order of 
Qarar after he arrived at Mishe. 
Once he’d made friends with mem- 
bers of the Brotherhood, the 
rest should be easy. By all acounts 
the Mikardanduma were natural-born 
suckers. But how to take that first 
step? He’d probably have to impro- 
vise after he got there. 

Once he’d gotten over that first 
hurdle, his careful preparation and 
experience in rackets like this would 
see him through. And the best part 
would be that he’d have the laugh 
on old Abreu, who could do abso- 
lutely nothing about it. Since Borel 
considered honesty a sign of stupid- 
ity, and since Abreu was not stupid 
for all his pompous ways, Borel as- 
sumed that Abreu must be out for 
what he could get like other wise 
joes, and that his moral attitudes 
and talk of principles were mere 
hypocritical pretence. 

“Aor The shout of one of the 
raftmen broke into Borel’s reverie. 
The Krishnan was pointing off to- 
wards the right bank, where a boat 
was emerging from among the islets. 

Yerevats jumped, up, shading his 
eyes with his hairy hand. “Robbers !” 
he said. 

“How can you tell from here?” 
asked Borel, a horrid fear making 
his heart pound. 

“Just know. You see,” said the 
Koloftu, his tail twitching nervous- 
ly. He looked appealingly at Borel. 
“Brave master kill robbers? No let 
them hurt us?” 



12 



MffJTVRE combined with SCiENCE FMCTtON STORiES 



“Sh-sure,” said Borel. He pulled 
out his sword halfway, looked at the 
blade, and shoved it back into its 
scabbard, more as a nervous gesture 
than anything else. 

“Ohe!” said one of the raftmen. 
"Think you to fight the robbers?” 

“I suppose so,” said Borel. 

“No, you shall not! If we make no 
fight, they will slay only you, for 
we are but poor men.” 

“Is that so?” said Borel. The 
adrenalin being poured into his sys- 
tem made him contrary, and his voice 
rose. “So you think I’ll let my throat 
be cut quietly to save yours, huh? 
I’ll show you baghanal” The sword 
whipped out of the scabbard, and the 
flat slapped the raftman on the side 
of the head, staggering him. “We’ll 
fight whether you like it or not! 
I’ll kill the first coward myself!” 
He was screaming at the three raft- 
men, now huddled together fearful- 
ly. “Make a barricade of the baggage! 
Move that stove forward!” He stood 
over them, shouting and swishing the 
air with his sword, until *^hey had ar- 
ranged the movables in a rough 
square. 

“Now,” said Borel more calmly, 
“bring your poles and crouch down 
inside there. You too, Yerevats. I’ll 
try to hold them off with the bow. 
If they board us anyway, we’ll jump 
out and rush them when I give the 
signal. Understand?” 

T he boat had been slanting 
out from the shore on a course 
converging toward that of the raft. 
Now Borel, peering over the edge 
of his barricade, could make out the 
individuals in it. There was one in 
the bow, another in the stern, and 
the rest rowing — perhaps twenty in 
all. 

“Is time to cock bow,” muttered 
Yerevats. 

The others looked nervously over 
their shoulders as if wondering 
whether the river offered a better 
chance of safety than battle. 

Borel said: “I wouldn’t try to 
swim ashore. You know the monsters 
of the Pichide.” Which only made 
them look unhappier. 

Borel put his foot into the stirrup 
at the muzzle end of the crossbow 



and cocked the device with both 
hands and a grunt. Then he opened 
the bandoleer he had bought with 
the bow and took out one of the 
bolts : an iron rod a span long, with 
a notch at one end, and at the other 
a flattened, diamond-shaped head 
with a twist to make the missle spin 
in its flight. He inserted the bolt 
into its groove. 

The boat came closer and closer. 
The man in the front end called 
across the water: “Surrender!” 

“Keep quiet,” said Borel softly to 
his companions. By now he was so 
keyed up that he was almost en- 
joying the excitement. 

Again the man in the boat hailed: 
“Surrender and we’ll not hurt you ! 
’Tis only your goods we want!” 

Still no reply from the raft. 

“For the last time, give up, or 
we’ll torture you all to death!” 

Borel shifted the crossbow to cov- 
er the man in the front. Damn, why 
hadn’t these gloops put sights on 
their gadgets? He’d takeh a few 
practice shots at a piece of paper 
the day before and thought himself 
pretty good. Now, however, his 
target seemed to shrink to mosquito 
size every time he tried to draw a 
bead on it, and something must be 
shaking the raft to make the weapon 
waver so. 

The man in the bow of the boat 
had produced an object like a small 
anchor with extra flukes, tied to 
the end of a rope. He held this 
dangling while the grunting oarsmen 
brought the boat swiftly towards the 
raft, then whirled it around his head. 

Borel shut his eyes and jerked 
the trigger. The string snapped loud- 
ly and the stick kicked back against 
his shoulder. One of the raftmen 
whooped. 

When Borel opened his eyes, the 
man in the front of the boat was no 
longer whirling the grapnel. Instead 
he was looking back towards the 
stern, where the man who had sat 
at the tiller had slumped down. The 
rowers were resting on their oars 
and jabbering excitedly. 

“Great master hit robber captain!" 
said Yerevats. “Better cock bow 
again.” 

Borel stood up to do so. Evidently 



WIDE-OPEN PLANET 



13 



he had missed the man he aimed at 
and instead hit the man in the stern. 
However, he said nothing to disil- 
lusion his servant about his marks- 
manship. 

The boat had reorganized and was 
coming on again, another robber hav- 
ing taken the place of the one at the 
tiller. This time there were two 
Krishnans in front, one with the 
grapnel and the other with a long- 
bow. 

“Keep your heads down,” said 
Borel, and shot at the archer ; the 
bolt flew far over the man’s head. 
Borel started to get up to reload, 
then realized that he’d be making a 
fine target. Could you cock these 
damned things sitting down? The 
archer let fly his shaft, which passed 
Borel’s head with a frightening 
whisht. Borel hastily found that he 
could cock his crossbow in a sitting 
position, albeit a little awkwardly. 
Another arrow thudded into the 
baggage. 

OREL SHED his military- 
style cap as too tempting a 
target and sighted on the boat 
again. Another miss, and the boat 
came closer. The archer was letting 
off three arrows to every one of 
Borel’s bolts, though Borel surmised 
that he was doing so to cover their 
approach rather than with hope of 
hitting anybody. 

Borel shot again; this time the bolt 
banged into the planking of the boat. 
The man with the grapnel was whirl- 
ing it once more, and another arrow 
screeched past. 

“Hey,” said Borel to one of the 
raftmen, “you with the hatchet! 
When the grapnel comes aboard, 
jump out and cut the rope. You 
other two, get ready to push the 
boat off with your poles.” 

“But the arrows — ” bleated the 
first man spoken to. 

“I’ll take care of that,” said Borel 
with more confidence than he felt. 

The archer had drawn another ar- 
row but was holding it steady in- 
stead of releasing it. As the boat 
came within range of the grapnel, 
the man whirling it let go. It landed 
on the raft with a thump. Then the 
man who had thrown it began to pull 



it in hand over hand until one of the 
flukes caught in a log. 

Borel looked around frantically 
for some way of the tempting the 
archer to shoot, since otherwise the 
first to stand up on the raft would 
be a sitting duck. He seized his cap 
and raised it above the edge of the 
barricade. Snap! and another arrow 
hissed by. 

“Go to it !” shrieked Borel, and 
sighted on the archer. His crew hes- 
itated. The archer reached back to 
his quiver for another arrow, and 
Borel, forcing himself to be calm, 
drew a bead on the man’s body and 
squeezed. 

The man gave a loud animal cry, 
between a grunt and a scream, and 
doubled over. 

“Go on!” yelled Borel again, rais- 
ing the crossbow as if to beat the 
raftmen over the head with it. They 
sprang into life ; one severed the 
rope with a chop of his hatchet 
while the other two poked at the 
boat with their poles. 

The remaining man in the front of 
the boat dropped his rope, shouted 
something to the rowers, and bent 
to pick up a boathook. Borel shot 
at him, but let himself get excited 
and missed, though it was practically 
spitting-distance. When the boathook 
caught in the logs, the man hauled 
the bow of the boat closer, while a 
few of the forward rowers stopped 
rowing to cluster around him with 
weapons ready. 

In desperation Borel dropped his 
crossbow, grabbed the end of the 
boathook, wrenched it out of the 
wood, and jerked it towards him- 
self. The man on the other end held 
on a second too long and toppled 
into the water, still gripping the 
shaft. Borel pulled on it with some 
idea of wrenching at away and re- 
versing it to spear the man in the 
water. However, the latter held on 
and was hauled to the edge of the 
raft, where he made as though to 
climb aboard. Meanwhile the raftmen 
had again pushed the boat away with 
their poles, so that those who had 
been gathering themselves to jump 
across thought better of the idea. 

Thump! Yerevats brought his 




14 FUTURE combined with SCiENCE FICTION STORIES 



mace down on the head of the man 
in the water, and the nniop of green 
hair sank beneath the surface. 

The raftmen were now yelling 
triumphantly in their own dialect. 
A robber, however, had picked up the 
longbow frpm tbe bottom of the boat 
and was fumbling with an arrow. 
Borel, recovering his crossbow, took 
pains with his next shot and made 
a hit just as the new archer let fly. 
The arrow went wild and the archer 
disappeared, to bob up again a sec- 
ond later cursing and holding his 
shoulder. 

Borel cocked his crossbow again 
and aimed at the man in the boat. 
This time, however, instead of shoot- 
ing, he simply pointed it at one man 
after another. Each man in tur« 
tried to duck down behind the 
thwarts, so that organized rowing 
became impossible. 

“Had enough?” called Borel. 

The robbers were arguing again, 
until finally one called out: “All 
right, don’t shoot ; we’ll let you go.” 
The oars resumed their regular 
rhythm, and the boat swung away to- 
wards the swamp. When it was safe- 
ly out of range some of the robbers 
yelled back threats and insults, 
which Borel could not understand at 
the distance. 

The raftmen were slapping each 
other’s backs, shouting: “We’re 

good! Said I not we could lick a 
hundred robbers?” Yerevats babbled 
about his wonderful master. 

Borel felt suddenly weak and sha- 
ky. If a mouse, or whatever they had 
on Krishna that corresponded to a 
mouse, were to climb aboard and 
squeak at him, he was sure he’d 
leap into the muddy Pichide in sheer 
terror. However, it wouldn’t do to 
show that. With trembling hands he 
insterted a cigarette into his long 
jewelled holder and lit it. Then he 
said: “Yerevats, my damned boots 
seem to have gotten scuffed. Give 
them a shine, will you?” 

2 

T hey tied up at Qou that 
evening to spend the night. 
Felix Borel paid off the raft- 



men, whom he overheard .before he 
retired telling the innkeeper how 
they had (with some help from the 
Earthman) beaten off a hundred 
river-pirates and slain scores. Next 
morning he bade them goodby as 
they pushed off down the river for 
Madjbur at the mouth of the Pichide, 
where they meant to sell their logs 
and catch a towboat back home. 

Four long Krishnan days later 
Borel was pacing the roof of his inn 
in Mishe. "The capitol of the Repub- 
lic of Mikardand had proved a big- 
ger city than he had expected. In the 
middle rose a sharp-edged mesa-like 
hill surmounted by the great citadel 
of the Order of Qarar. The citadel 
frowned down upon Borel, who 
frowned right back as he cast and re- 
, jected one plan after another for 
penetrating not only the citadel but 
also the ruling caste whose strong- 
hold it was. 

He called: “Yerevats!” 

“Yes, nnaster?” 

“The Garma Qararuma toil not, 
neither do they spin, do they?” 
“Guardians work? No sir! Run 
country, protect common people from 
enemies and from each other. That 
enough, not?” 

“Maybe, but that’s not what I'm 
after. How are these Guardians sup- 
ported?” 

“Collect taxes from common peo- 
ple.” 

“I thought so. Who collects these 
taxes?” 

“Squires of Order. Work for 
treasurer of Order.” 

“Who’s he?” asked Borel. 

“Is most noble garm Kubanan.” 
“Where could I find the most 
noble Sir Kubanan?” 

“If he in citadel, no can see. If 
in treasury office, can.” 

“Where’s the treasury office?” 
Yerevats waved vaguely. “That 
way. Master want go?” 

“Right. Get out the buggy, will 
you?” 

Yerevats disappeared, and present- 
ly they were rattling over the cob- 
blestone towards the treasury office 
in the light one-aya four-wheeled 
carriage Borel had bought in Qou. 
It had occurred to him at the time 



WIDE-OPEN PLANET 



15 



that one pictured a gallant knight 
as pricking o’er the plain on his 
foaming steed rather than sitting 
comfortably behind the steed in a 
buggy. However, since the latter 
procedure promised to be pleasanter, 
and Yerevats knew how to drive, 
Borel had taken a chance on the 
Mikardanders’ prejudices. 

The treasury office was in one of 
the big graceless rough-stone build- 
ings that the Qarariuna used as 
their official architectural style. 
The doorway was flanked by a pair 
of rampant stone yekis; the domi- 
nant carnivores of this part of the 
planet, something like a six-legged 
mink blown up to tiger-size. Borel 
had had the wits scared out of him 
by hearing the roar of one on his 
drive down from Qou. 

Borel gathered up his sword, 
got down from the buggy, assumed 
his loftiest expression, and asked 
the doorman: “Where do I find the 
receiver of taxes, my good man?” 

In accordance with the doorman’s 
directions he followed a hall in 
the building until he discovered a 
window in the side of the hall, be- 
hind which sat a man in the drab 
dress of the commoners of Mikar- 
dand. 

Borel said: “I wish to see whether 
I owe the Republic any taxes. I 
don’t wish to discuss it with you, 
though; fetch your superior.” 

The clerk scuttled off with a look 
compounded of fright and resent- 
ment. Presently another face and 
torso appeared at the window. The 
torso was clad in the gay coat of a 
member of the Order of Qarar, but 
judging from the smallness of the 
dragonlike emblem on the chest, the 
man was only a squire or whatever 
you’d call the grade below the true 
garma. 

“Oh, not you,” said Borel. “The 
head of the department.” 

The squire frowned so that the 
antennae sprouting from between 
his brows crossed. “Who are you, 
anyhow?” he said. “The receiver of 
taxes am I. If you have anything to 
pay—” 



“My dear fellow,” said Borel, “I’m 
not criticising you, but as a past 
Grand Master of an Earthly Order 
and a member of several others, I’m 
not accustomed to dealing with un- 
derlings. You will kindly tell the 
head of your department that the 
garm Felix Borel is here.” 

T he man went off shaking his 
head in a baffled manner. 
Presently another man with a 
knight’s insignia stepped through a 
door into the corridor and advanced 
with hand outstretched. 

“My dear sir!” he said. “Will you 
step into my chamber? ’Tis a 
pleasure extraordinary to meet a 
true knight from Earth. I knew not 
that such lived there; the Ertsuma 
who have come to Mikardand speak 
strange subversive doctrines of lib- 
erty and equality for the common- 
ality — even those who claim the rank, 
like that Sir Erik Koskelainen. One 
can tell you’re a man of true qual- 
ity.” 

“Thank you,” said Borel. “I knew 
that one of the Garma Qararuma 
would know me as spiritually one of 
themselves, even though I belong to 
another race.” 

The knight bowed. “And now 
what’s this about your wishing to 
pay taxes? When I first heard it I 
believed it not; in all the history of 
the Republic no man has ever 
offered to pay taxes of his own will.” 
Borel smiled. “I didn’t say I 
actually wanted to pay them. But 
I’m new here and wanted to know 
my rights and obligations. That’s all. 
Better to get them straightened out 
at the start, don’t you think?” 

“Yes — but — are you he who came 
hither from Qou but now?” 

“Yes.” 

"He who slew Ushyarian the river- 
pirate and his lieutenant in battle 
on the Pichide?” 

Borel waved a deprecating hand. 
“That was nothing. One can’t let 
such rogues run loose, you know. 
I’d have wiped out the lot, but one 
can’t chase malefactors with a 
timber-raft.” 

The Qararu jumped up. “Then the 
reward is due you!” 



16 



FUTURE combined with SCiESCE FiCTtON HTORiES 



“Reward?" 

“Why, knew you not? A reward 
of ten thousand karda was lain on 
the head of Ushyarian for years! I 
must see about the verification of 
your claim ...” 

Borel, thinking quickly, said : 
“Don’t bother. I don’t really want 
it.” 

“You don’t wish it?” The man 
stared blankly. 

“No. I only did a gentleman’s 
duty, and I don’t need it.” 

“But — the money’s here — it’s been 
appropriated — ” 

“Well, give it to some worthy 
cause. Don’t you have charities in 
Mishe?” 

The knight finally pulled himself 
together. “Extraordinary. You must 
meet the treasurer himself. As for 
taxes — let me see — there is a resi- 
dence tax on metics, while on the 
other hand we have treaties with 
Gozashtand and some of the other 
states to exempt each other’s gentle- 
folk. I know not how that would 
affect you — but concern yourself 
not, in view of your action in the 
matter of the reward. I’ll put it up 
to the treasurer. Can you wait?” 

“Sure. Mind if I smoke?” 

“Not at all. Have one of these.” 
The knight dug a bunch of Krish- 
nan cigars out of a desk drawer. 

A fter a few minutes, the 
official returned and asked 
Borel to come to the treasurer’s 
office, where he introduced the 
Earthman to the treasurer of the 
Order. Sir Kubanan was that rarity 
among Krishnans, a stout man, 
looking a little like a beardless 
Santa Claus. 

The previous conversation more 
or less repeated itself, except that 
the treasurer proved a garrulous old 
party with a tendency to ramble. He 
seemed fascinated by Borel’s medals. 

“This?” said Borel, indicating the 
basketball medal. “Oh, that’s the 
second degree of the Secret Order 
of Spooks. Very secret and very 
powerful; only admits men who’ve 
been acquitted of a murder 
charge ...” 

“Wonderful, wonderful,” said Ku- 
banan at last. “My dear sir, we will 



find a way around this tax matter, 
fear not. Perish the thought that one 
so chivalrous as yourself should be 
taxed like a vulgar commoner, even 
though the Order be sore pressed for 
funds.” 

This was the opening Borel had 
been waiting for. He pounced. “The 
Order would like additional sources 
of revenue?” 

“Why, yes. Of course we’re all 
sworn to poverty and obediance.” 
(he contemplated his glittering 
assortment of rings) “and hold all 
iit common, even our women and 
children. Nevertheless, the defense 
of the Republic puts a heavy burden 
upon us.” 

“Have you thought of a state 
lottery?” 

“What might that be?” 

Borel explained, rattling through 
the details as fast as his fair 
command of the language allowed. 

“Wonderful,” said Kubanan. “I 
fear I could not follow your descrip- 
tion at all times, though ; you do 
speak with an accent. Could you put 
it in writing for us?” 

“Sure. In fact I can do better than 
that.” 

“How mean you?” 

“Well, to give you an example, 
it’s much easier to tell how to ride 
an aya than to do it, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Just so, it’s easy to tell- you how 
a lottery works — but it takes 
practical experience to run one.” 

“How can we surmount that diffi- 
culty?” 

“I could organize and run your 
first lottery.” 

“Sir Felix, you quite take ray 
breath away. Could you write down 
the amounts involved in this 
scheme?” 

Borel wrote down a rough estimate 
of the sums he might expect to take 
in and pay out in a city of this size. 
Kubanan, frowning, said : “What’s 

this ten percent for the Director?” 

“That’s the incentive. If you’re 
going to run this thing in a business- 
like manner after I’ve left, we’d 
better set it up right. And one must 
have an incentive. The first time I’d 
be the director, naturally." 



WIDE-OPEN PLANET 



17 



‘T see. That’s not unreasonable. 
But since members of the Order 
aren’t allowed private funds beyond 
mere pocket-money, how would the 
commission act as incentive?” 

Borel shrugged. “You’d have to 
figure that one out. Maybe you’d 
better hire a commoner to run the 
show. I suppose there are merchants 
and bankers among them, aren’t 
there?” 

“True. Amazing. We must discuss 
this further. Won’t you come to my 
chambers this evening to sup? I’ll 
pass you in to the citadel.” 

Borel tried to hide his grki of 
triumph as he said ; “It’s my turn 
to be overwhelmed, your excellency !” 
The Borel luck! 

A t the appointed hour Borel, 
having presented his pass at 
the gate of the citadel, was taken in 
tow by a uniformed guide. Inside 
Mishe’s Kremlin stood a lot of huge 
plain stone buildings wherein the 
Guardians led their antlike exist- 
ence. Borel walked past playgrounds 
and exercise-grounds, and identified 
other buildings as apartment-houses, 
armories, office-buildings, and an 
auditorium. It was just as well to 
memorize such details in case a slip- 
up should require a hasty retreat. 
Borel had once spent six months as 
a guest of the French Republic in 
consequence of failing to observe 
this precaution. He passed hundreds 
of gorgeously arrayed garma of both 
sexes. Some looked at him sharply, 
but none offered interference. 

For the quarters of one sworn 
to poverty, the treasurer’s apartment 
was certainly sumptuous. Kubanan 
cordially introduced Borel to a 
young female Mikardandu who quite 
took his breath away. If one didn’t 
mind green hair, feathery antennae, 
and a somev/hat flat-featured Orient- 
al look, she was easily the most 
beautiful thing he’d seen since Earth, 
especially since the Mikardandu 
evening-dress began at the midriff. 

“Sir Felix, my confidential secret- 
ary, the Lady Zerdai.” Kubanan 
lowered his voice in mock-confi- 
dence. “I think she’s my own 
daughter, though naturally one can 
never know for sure.” 



"Then family feeling does exist 
among the Guardians?” said Borel. 

“Yes, I fear me it does. A shameful 
weakness, but natheless a most 
pleasant one. Heigh-ho, at times I 
envy the commoners. Why, Zerdai 
herself has somehow bribed the 
women in charge of the incubator 
to show her which is her own authen- 
tic egg.” 

Zerdai sparkled at them. “I was 
down there but today, and the maids 
tell me it’s due to hatch in another 
fifteen days!” 

“Ahem,” said Borel. "Would it be 
good manners to ask who’s papa? 
Excuse me if I pull a boner 
occasionally ; I’m not entirely 
oriented yet.” 

Kubanan said: “No offense, sir. He 
was Sir Sardu, the predecessor of 
Sir Shurgez, was he not, Zerdai?” 
“Yes,” she agreed. “But our petty 
affairs must seem dull to a galaxy- 
traveller like you. Six Felix. Tell us 
of the Earth! I’ve long dreamed of 
going thither; I can fancy nought 
more glamorous than seeing the New 
York Stock Exchange, or the 
Moscow Art Theater, or the Shang- 
hai night-clubs with my own eyes. 
It must be wonderful to ride in a 
power-vehicle! To talk to somebody 
miles distant! And all those marvel- 
ous inventions and factories...” 
Kubanan said dryly: “I sometimes 
think Lady Zerdai shows an unbe- 
coming lack of pride in her Order, 
young though she be. Now about 
this lottery: will you see to having 
the certificates printed?” 
"Certainly,” said Borel. “So you do 
have a printing-press here?” 

“Yes; from the Earthmen we got 
it. We’d have preferred a few 
Earthly weapons to smite our 
enemies ; but no, all they’ll let us 
have is this device, which bodes 
ill for our social order. Should the 
commoners learn reading, who knows 
what mad ideas this ill-starred 
machine may spread among them?” 

OREL TURNED on the charm, 
thankful that supper consisted 
of some of the more palatable 
Krishnan dishes. On this planet you 
were liable to have something like a 
giant cockroach set before you as a 




18 



FVTMJRE combined with SCIENCE FICTION STORIES 



treat. Afterwards all three lit 
cigars and talked while sipping a 
liqueur. 

Kubanan continued: “Sir Felix, 

you’re old enough in the ways of 
the world to know that a man’s 
pretext is often other than his true 
reason. Your Earthmen tell me they 
hide their sciences from us because 
our culture is yet too immature — by 
which they mean our gladiatorial 
shows, our trials by combat, our 
warring national sovereignties, our 
social inequalities, and the like. 
Now, I say not that they’re altogeth- 
er wrong — I for one should be glad 
had they never introduced this 
accursed printing-press. But the 
question I’d ask you is: What’s their 
real reason?’’ 

Borel wrinkled his forehead in 
the effort of composing a suitable 
reply. Being an adventurer and no 
intellectual he’d never troubled his 
head much about such abstract 
questions. At last, he said : “Perhaps 
they’re afraid the Krishnans, with 
their warlike traditions, would learn 
to make space-ships and attack their 
neighboring planets.” 

“A fantastic idea,” said Kubanan. 
“ ’Tis not so long since there was a 
tremendous uproar over the question 
of whether the planets were in- 
habited. The churches had been 
assuring us that the planets were the 
very gods, and crucifying heretics 
who said otherwise. No wonder we 
hailed as gods the first beings from 
Earth and the other planets of your 
sun !" 

Borel murmured a polite assent, 
privately thinking that the first 
expedition to this system ought, if 
they had any sense, to have been 
satisfied wih being gods and not go 
disillusioning the Krishnans. That’s 
what came of letting a bunch of 
sappy do-gooders . . . 

Kubanan was going on: “Our 

problem is much more immediate. 
We’re hemmed and beset by enemies. 
Across the Pichide lies Gozashtand, 
whose ruler has been taking an 
unfriendly line of late; and Madjbur 
City is a veritable hotbed of plots 
and stratagems. If a way could be 
found to get us — let’s say — one gun, 
which our clever smiths could copy. 



there’s nothing the Order would not 
do. . .” 

So, thought Borel, that’s why the 
old boy is so hospitable to a mere 
stranger. He said: “I see your point, 
excellency. Y*u know the risks, don’t 
you?” 

“The greater the risk, the greater 
the reward.” 

“True, but it would require most 
careful thought. I’ll let you know 
when I’ve had time to think.” 

“I understand.” Kubanan rose, and 
to Borel's surprise said : “I leave 
you now; Kuri will think I’ve forgot- 
ten her utterly. You’ll stay the night, 
of course?” 

“Why, I — thank you, your excel- 
lency. I’ll have to send a note out to 
my man.” 

“Yes, yes. I’ll send you a page. 
Meanwhile the Lady Zerdai shall 
keep you company, or if you’ve a 
mind to read there are ample books 
on the shelves. Take the second room 
on the left.” 

B orel murmured his thanks and 
the treasurer departed, his 
furred robe floating behind him. 
Then, having no interest whatever 
in Kubanan’s library, he sat down 
near Zerdai. 

Eyes aglow, Zerdai said: “Now 
that we need talk finance no more, 
tell me of the Earth. How live you? 
I mean, what’s your system of per- 
sonal relationships? Have you homes 
and families like the commoners, or 
all in common as we Guardians do?” 
As Borel explained, the girl 
sighed. With a far-away look she 
said: “Could I but go thither! I can 
imagine nought more romantic 
than to be an Earthly housewife 
with a home and a man and children 
of my own! And a telephone!” 

Borel reflected that some Earthly 
housewives sang a different tune, but 
said gently: “Couldn’t you resign 
from the Order?” 

“In theory, yes — but ’tis hardly 
ever done. ”T would be like stepping 
into another world, and what sort of 
welcome would the commoners give? 
Would they not resent what they’d 
call one’s airs? And to have to face 
the scorn of all Guardians... No, 
it would not do. Could one escape 



WIDE-OPEN PLANET 



this world entire, as by journeying 
to Earth ...” 

“Maybe that could be arranged 
too,” said Borel cautiously. While he 
was willing to promise her anything 
to enlist her cooperation and then 
ditch her, he didn’t want to get in- 
volved in more schemes at once than 
he could handle. 

“Really?” she said, glowing at him. 
"There’s nought I wouldn’t do. ..” 
Borel thought, they all say there’s 
nothing they wouldn’t do if I’ll only 
get them what they want. He said; 
“I may need help on some of my 
projects here. Can I count on your 
assistance?” 

“With all my heart !” 

“Good. I’ll see that you don’t re- 
gret it. We’d make a wonderful team, 
don’t you think? With your beauty 
and my experience there’s nothing 
we couldn’t get away with. Can’t 
you see us cutting a swath through 
the galaxy?” 

She leaned toward him, breathing 
hard. “You’re wonderful!” 

He smiled. “Not really. You are.” 
“No, you.” 

“No, you. You’ve got beauty, 
brains, nerve — Oh well, I’ll have 
plenty of chance to tell you in the 
future. When I get this lottery or-- 
ganized.” 

“Oh.” This seemed to bring her 
back to Krishna again. She glanced 
at the time-candle and put out her 
cigar, saying: “Great stars, I had no 
idea the hour was so late! I must go 
to bed. Sir Felix the Red. Will you 
escort me to my room?” 

3 

A t breakfast sir Kubanan 

said : “Thanks to the stars 
the Grand Council meets this 
forenoon. I’ll bring up your lottery 
suggestion, and if they approve we 
can start work on it today. Why 
spend you not the morning laying 
your plans?” 

“A splendid idea, excellency,” said 
Borel, and went to work, after break- 
fast on the design of lottery tickets 
and advertising posters. Zerdai hung 
around, asking if she couldn’t help, 
trying to cuddle up beside him and 



getting in the way of his pen arm, 
all the time looking at him with 
such open adoration that even he, 
normally as embarrassable as a rhi- 
noceros, squirmed a little under her 
gaze. 

However, he put up with it in a 
good cause, to wit : the cause of mak- 
ing a killing for Felix E. Borel. 

By the middle of the day Kuba- 
nan was back jubilant. “They ap- 
proved ! At first Grand Master Dju- 
vain boggled a little, but I talked 
him round. He liked not letting one 
not of our Order so deep into our 
affairs, saying, how can there be a 
secret Order if all its secrets be 
known? But I bridled him. How 
goes the plan?” 

Borel showed him the layouts. The 
treasurer said: “Wonderful! Won- 
derful! Carry on, my boy, and come 
to me for aught you need.” 

“I will. This afternoon I’ll arrange 
for printing this stuff. Then we’ll 
need a booth. How about setting it 
up at the lower end of that little 
street up to the gate of the citadel? 
And I’ll have to train a couple of 
men as ticket-sellers, and some more 
to guard the money.” 

“All shall be done. Hearken, why 
move you not hither from your 
present lodgings? I have ample room, 
and ’twould save time as well as 
augment comfort, thus slaying tw« 
unhas with one bolt.” 

"Do come,” sighed Zerdai. 

“Okay. Where can I stable my aya 
and quarter my servant?” 

Kubanan told him. The afternoon 
he spent making arrangements for 
printing. Since Mishe had but two 
printers, each with one little hand 
press, the job would not be finished 
for at least twenty days. 

E REPORTED this to Kuban- 
an at supper, adding: “Will 
you give me a draft on the treasury 
of the Order for fifteen hundred 
karda to cover the initial costs?" 
(This was more than fifty percent 
over the prices the printers had 
quoted, but Kubanan assented with- 
out question.) 

“And now,” continued Borel, “let's 
take up the other matter. If Zerdai’s 
your confidential secretary, I don’t 




20 



FUTURE combined with SCiEI^^CE FICTION STORIES 



suppose you mind discussing it in 
front of her.” 

“Not at all. You’ve found a way to 
get around the technological block- 
ade?” 

“Well — yes and no. I can assure 
you it’ll do no good for me to go to 
Novorecife and try to smuggle out a 
gun or plans for one. They have a 
machine that looks right through 
you, and they make you stand in 
front of it before letting you out.” 

“Have they no regard for priva- 
cy?” 

“Not in this matter. Besides, even 
if one did succeed, they’d send an 
agent to bring one back dead or 
alive.” 

“Of those agents I’ve heard,” said 
Kubanan with a slight shudder, 

“Moreover I’m no engineer — a 
base-born trade — so I can’t carry a 
set of plans in my head for your peo- 
ple to work from. Guns are too com- 
plicated for that.” 

“What then?” 

“I think the only way is to have 
something they want so badly they’ll 
ease up on the blockade in return for 
it.” 

“Yes, but what have we? There’s 
little of ours that they covet. Even 
gold, they say, is much too heavy to 
haul billions of miles to Earth with 
profit, and almost everything we 
make, they can make more cheaply at 
home once they know how. I know; 
I’ve discussed it with the Viagens 
folk at Novorecife. Knight though I 
be, my office requires that I interest 
myself in such base commercial mat- 
ters.” 

Borel drew on his cigar and re- 
marked: “Earthmen are an inventive 
lot, and they’ll continue thinking up 
new things for a long time to come.” 

Kubanan shuddered. “A horrid 
place must this Earth of yours be. 
No stability.” 

“So, if we had an invention far 
ahead of their latest stuff, they 
might want the secret badly enough 
to make a deal. See?” 

“How can we? We’re not inventive 
here. No gentleman would lower 
himself by tinkering with machines 
while the common people lack the 
wit.” 



Borel smiled. “Suppose I had such 
a secret?” 

“That would be different. What is 
it?” 

“It’s an idea that was confided to 
me by a dying old man. Although the 
Earthmen had scorned him and said 
his device was against the laws of 
nature, it worked. I know because he 
showed me a model.” 

“But what is it?” cried Kubanan. 

“It would not only be of vast value 
to the Earthmen, but also would 
make Mikardand preeminent among 
the nations of Krishna.” 

“Torture us not. Sir Felix!” plead- 
ed Zerdai. 

“It’s a perpetual-motion machine.” 

Kubanan asked: “What’s that?” 

“A machine that runs forever, or 
at least until it wears out.” 

UBANAN frowned and 
twitched his antennae. “Not 
sure am I that I understand you. We 
have water-wheels for operating 
grain-mills which run until they 
wear out.” 

“Not quite what I mean.” Borel 
concentrated on putting a scientific 
concept into words, a hard thing to 
do because he neither knew nor 
cared much about such matters. “I 
mean, this machine will give out 
more power than is put into it.” 

“Wherein lies the advantage of 
that?” 

“Why, Earthmen prize power 
above all things. Power runs their 
space-ships and motor-vehicles, their 
communications equipment and fac- 
tories. Power lights their homes and 
milks their cows... I forget, you 
don’t know about cows. And where 
do they get their power? From coal, 
uranium, and things like that. Miner- 
als. They get some from the sun and 
the tides, but not enough, and they 
worry about exhaustion of their 
minerals. Now, my device takes 
power from the force of gravity, 
which is the very fundamental quali- 
ty of matter.” He was striding up 
and down in his eagerness. “Sooner 
or later Krishna is bound to have a 
scientific revolution like that of 
Earth. Neither you nor the Viagens 




WIDE-OPEN PLANET 



21 



Jnterplanetarias can hold it off for- 
ever. And when — ” 

‘T hope I live not to see it,” said 
Kubanan. 

“When it comes, don’t you want 
Mikardand to lead the planet? Of 
course ! No need to give up your 
social system. In fact, if we organize 
the thing right, it’ll not only secure 
the rule of the Order in Mikardand. 
but extend the Order’s influence 
over all Krishna!” 

Kubanan was beginning to catch 
a little of Borel’s fire. “How propose 
you to do that?” 

“Ever heard of a corporation?” 
“Let me think — is that not some 
vulgar scheme Earthmen use in trade 
and manufacture?” 

“Yes, but there’s more to it than 
that. There’s no limit to what you 
can do with a corporation. The 
Viagens is a corporation, though all 
its stock is owned by govern- 
ments...” Borel plunged into cor- 
poration finance, not neglecting to 
say: “Of course, the promoter of a 
corporation gets fifty-one percent 
of the stock in consideration of his 
services.” 

“Who would the promoter be in 
our case?” 

“I, naturally. We can form this 
corporation to finance the machine. 
The initial financing can come from 
the Order itself, and later the 
members can either hold — ” 

“Wait, wait. How can the members 
buy stock when they own no money 
of their own?” 

“Unh. That’s a tough one. I guess 
the treasury’ll have to keep the 
stock; it can either draw profits from 
the lease of the machines, or sell the 
stock at an enormous profit — ” 

“Sir Felix,” said Kubanan, “You 
make my head to spin. No more, lest 
my head split like a melon on the 
chopping-block. Enticing though 
your scheme be, there is one immov- 
able obstacle.” 

“Yes?” 

“The Grand Master and the other 
officers would never permit — you’ll 
not take offense? — would never per- 
mit an outsider such as yourself to 
acquire such power over the Order. 
’Twas all I could do to put over 



your lottery scheme, and this would 
be one thing too many, like a second 
nose on your face.” 

“All right, think it over,” said 
Borel. “Now suppose you tell me 
about the Order of Qarar.” 

Kubanan obliged with an account 
of the heroic deeds of Qarar, the 
legendary founder of the Order who 
had slain assorted giants and mon- 
sters. As he talked, Borel reflected 
on his position. He doubted if the 
Qararuma would want to take in a 
being from another planet like him- 
self, and even if they did, the club 
rules against private property would 
handicap his style. 

He asked: “How do Mikardanders 
become members? By being — uh — 
hatched in the official incubator?” 
“Not always. Each child from the 
incubator is tested at various times 
during its growth. If it fail any 
test, ’tis let out for adoption by some 
good commoner family. On the other 
hand, when membership falls low, we 
watch the children of commoners 
and any that show exceptional qual- 
ities are admitted to training as 
wards of the Order.” The treasurer 
went on to tell of the various grades 
of membership until he got sleepy 
and took his leave. 

^ Up 

Later Borel asked Zerdai : “Love 
me r 

“You know I do, my lord!” 

“Then I have a job for you.” 
“Aught you say, dearest master.” 

"I want one of those honorary 
memberships.” 

“But Felix, that’s for notables like 
the King of Gozashtand only! I know 
not what I could accomplish — ” 
“You make the suggestion to Ku- 
banan, see? And keep needling him 
until he asks me. He trusts you.” 

“I will try, rny dearest. And I 
hope Shurgez never returns.” 

While ordinarily Borel would have 
investigated this last cryptic remark, 
at the moment his head was too full 
of schemes for self-aggrandizement. 
“Another thing. Who’s the most 
skilled metal-worker in Mishe? I 
want somebody who can make a 
working model that really works.” 
“I’ll find out for you, my knight.” 



22 



FUTURE combined with SCiEXCE FiCTiON STORiES 



ERDAI SENT Borel to one 
Henjare bad-Qavao the Brazer, a 
gnomish Mikardandu whom Borel 
first dazzled with his facade and 
then swore to secrecy with dreadful- 
sounding oaths of his own inven- 
tion. 

He then presented the craftsman 
with a rough plan for a wheel with 
a lot of rods with weights on their 
ends, pivoted to the circumference 
so that they had some freedom to 
swing in the plane of rotation of the 
wheel. There was also a trip ar- 
rangement so that as the wheel ro- 
tated, each rod as it approached the 
top was moved from a position lean- 
ing back against a stop on the rim 
to a straight-out radial position. 
Hence the thing looked as though 
at any time the weights on one side 
stood out farther from the center 
than those on the other, and there- 
fore would over-balance the latter 
and cause the wheel to turn indef- 
initely. 

Borel knew just enough about sci- 
ence to realize that the device would 
not work, though not enough to 
know why. On the other hand, since 
these gloops knew even less than he 
did, there should be no trouble in 
selling them the idea. 

That night Kubanan said: “Sir 
Felix, a brilliant thought has struck 
me. Won’t you accept an honorary 
membership in our proud Order? In 
truth, you’ll find it a great advantage 
while you dwell in Mikardand, or 
even when you journey elsewhere.” 

Borel registered surprise. ‘‘Me? 
I’m most humbly grateful, excellen- 
cy, but is an outsider like myself 
worthy of such an honor?” Mean- 
while he thought: good old Zerdai! 
It I were the marrying kind. . . For 
a moment he wavered in his deter- 
mination to shake her when she’d 
served her turn. 

‘‘Nonsense, my lad, of course 
you’re worthy. I’d have gone farther 
and proposed you for full member- 
ship, but the Council pointed out 
that the constitution allows that only 
to native-born Mikardanders of our 
own species. As ’tis, honorary mem- 
bership will provide you with most 



of the privileges of membership and 
few of the obligations.” 

‘‘I'm overcome with happiness.” 
‘‘Of course there’s the little matter 
of the initiation.” 

‘‘What?” Borel controlled his face. 
‘‘Yes; waive it they would not, 
since no king are you. It amounts 
to little; much ceremony and a 
night’s vigil. I’ll coach you in the 
ritual. And you must obtain ceremo- 
nial robes; I’ll make you a list.” 

Borel wished he’d hiked the print- 
ing charges on the lottery material 
by another fifty percent. 

T he initiation proved not 

only expensive, but an interplan- 
etary bore as well. Brothers in fan- 
tastic robes and weird masks stood 
about muttering a mystic chant at 
intervals. Borel stood in front of the 
Grand Master of the Order, a tall 
Krishnan with a lined face that 
might have been carved from wood 
for all the expression it bore. Borel 
responded to interminable questions; 
since the language was an archaic di- 
alect of Gozashtandou, he did not 
really know v.’hat he was saying half 
the time. He was lectured on the 
Order’s glorious past, mighty pres- 
ent, and boundless future, and on his 
duties to protect and defend his 
interests. He called down all sorts 
of elaborate astrological misfortunes 
on his head should he violate his 
oaths. 

“Now,” said the grand master, “art 
thou ready for the vigil. Therefore 
I command thee: strip to thy under- 
wear !” 

Wondering what he was getting 
into now, Borel did so. 

“Come with me,” said Grand 
Master Sir Djuvain. 

They led him down stairs and 
through passages that got progres- 
sively narrower, darker, and less 
pleasant. A couple of the hooded 
brethcren carried lanterns, which 
soon became necessary in order to see 
the way. We must be far below the 
ground-level of the citadel, thought 
Borel, stumbling along in his socks 
and feeling most clammy and un- 
comfortable. 

When they seemed to have de- 
scended into the very bowels of the 




WIDE-OPEN PLANET 



23 



Earth they halted. The grand master 
said : "Here shalt thou remain the 
night, O aspirant. Danger will come 
upon thee, and beware how thou 
meetest it.” 

One of the brothers was measur- 
ing a long candle. He cut it off at 
a certain length and fixed it up 
right to a small shelf in the rough 
side of the tunnel. Another brother 
handed Borel a hunting-spear with 
a long, broad head. 

Then they left him. 

So far he had carried off his act 
by assuring himself that all this was 
a lot of bluff and hokum. Nothing 
serious could be intended. As the 
brothers’ footfalls died away, how- 
ever, he was no longer so sure. The 
damned candle seemed to illuminate 
for a distance of only about a metre 
in all directions. Fore and aft the 
tunnel receded into utter blackness. 

His hair rose as something rus- 
tled. As he whipped the spear into 
position it scuttled away; some rat- 
like creature no doubt. Borel started 
pacing. If that damned dope Abreu 
had only let him bring his watch! 
Then he’d at least have a notion of 
the passage of time. It seemed he’d 
been pacing for hours, though that 
was probably an illusion. 

B orel became aware of an 

odd irregularity in the floor be- 
neath his stockinged feet, and he 
bent down and explored it with his 
fingers. Yes, a pair of parallel 
grooves, two or three centimetres 
deep, ran lengthwise along the tun- 
nel. He followed them a few steps 
each way, but stopped when he could 
no longer see what he was doing. 
Why should there be two parallel 
grooves like a track along the floor? 

He paced until his legs ached from 
weariness, then tried sitting on the 
floor with his back against the wall. 
When he soon found his eyelids 
drooping, he scrambled up lest his 
initiators return to find him asleep. 
The candle burned slowly down, its 
flame standing perfectly still for 
minutes at a stretch and then waver- 
ing slightly as some tiny air-current 
brushed it. Still silence and dark- 
ness. 



The candle would soon be burned 
down to nothing. What then? Would 
they expect him to stand here in 
complete darkness ? 

A sound made him jump violently. 
He could not tell what sort of sound 
it was; merely a faint noise from 
down the tunnel. There it came 
again. 

Then his hair really rose at a low 
throaty vocal noise, the kind one 
hears in the carnivore-cage of the 
zoo before feeding-time. A sort of 
grunt, such as a big cat makes in 
tuning up for a real roar. It came 
again, louder. 

The dying candle-flame showed to 
Borel’s horrified gaze something 
moving fast towards him in the 
tunnel. With a frightful roar a great 
yeki rushed into the dim light with 
gleaming eyes and bared fangs. 

For perhaps a second (though it 
seemed an hour) Felix Borel stood 
helplessly holding his spear poised, 
his mouth hanging open. In that 
second, however, his mind suddenly 
worked with the speed of a tripped 
mousetrap. Something odd about the 
yeki’s motion, together with the fact 
of the grooves in the floor, gave 
him the answer; the animal waa a 
stuffed one pushed towards him on 
wheels. 

Borel bent and laid his spear diag- 
onally across the floor of the tunnel, 
and stepped back. When the contrap- 
tion struck the spear it slewed side- 
ways with a bang, rattle, and thump 
and stopped, its nose against the 
wall. 

Borel recovered his spear and ex- 
amined the derailed yeki at close 
range. It proved a pretty battered- 
looking piece of taxidermy, the head 
and neck criss-crossed with seams 
where the hide had been slashed 
open and sewn up again. Evidently 
it had been used for initiations for a 
long time, and some of the aspirants 
had speared it. Others had doubtless 
turned tail and run, thus flunking 
the test. 

Footsteps sounded in the corridor 
and lanterns bobbed closer just as 
the candle on the shelf guttered oat. 
The grand master and the masked 
brethcren swarmed around Borel, 



24 



FUTURE combined with SCIENCE FICTION STORIES 



eluding one with a horn on which 
he had made the yeki-noises. They 
slapped him on the back and told 
him how brave he was, then led him 
back up many flights to the main 
hall, where he was allowed to don his 
clothes again. The grand master 
hung a jewelled dragon insignia 
around his neck and welcomed him 
with a florid speech in archaic style: 
"O Felix, be thou hereby accepted 
into this most noble, most ancient, 
most honorable, most secret, most 
puissant, most righteous, most chival- 
rous, and most fraternal Order, and 
upon thee be bestowed all the rights, 
privileges, rank, standing, immuni- 
ties, duties, liabilities, obligations, 
and attributes of a knight of this 
most noble, most ancient, most 
honorable. . 

The long Krishnan night was two- 
thirds gone when the hand-shaking 
and drinking were over. Borel and 
Kubanan, arms about each other’s 
necks, wove their way drunkenly to 
the latter’s apartment while Borel 
sang what he could remember of an 
Earthly song about a King of Eng- 
land and a queen of Spain, until 
Kubanan shushed him, saying : 
“Know you not that poetry’s for- 
bidden in Midardand?’’ 

“I didn’t know. Why?’’ 

“The Order decided it was bad 
for our — hie — martial spirit. B’sides, 
poets tell too damned many lies. 
What’s the nex’ stanza?” 

4 

EXT MORNING Sir Felix, as 
he tried to remember to think 
of himself, began to press for 
consideration of his perpetual-motion 
scheme. He obtained an interview 
with Grand Master Djuvain in the 
afternoon and put his proposal. Sir 
Djuvain seemed puzzled by the 
whole thing and Borel had to call 
in Kubanan to help him explain. 

Djuvain finally said: “Very well. 
Brother Felix, tell me when your 
preparations are ready and I’ll call 
a general meeting of the' members in 
residence to pass upon your propo- 
sal.” 

Then, since the working model was 



not yet ready, Borel had nothing to 
do for a couple of days except 
breathe down the neck of Henjare 
the Brazer and superintend the 
building of the lottery ticket-booth. 
The printing-job was nowhere near 
done. 

Therefore he whistled up Yerevats 
to help him pass the time by practic- 
ing driving the buggy. After a 
couple of hours he could fairly well 
manage the difficult art of backing 
and filling to turn around in a re- 
stricted space. 

“Have the carriage ready right 
after lunch,” he ordered. 

“Master go ride?” 

“Yes. I shan’t need you though; 
I’m taking it myself.” 

“Unk. No Good. Master get in 
trouble.” 

“That’s my lookout.” 

“Bet master take girl out. Bad 
business.” 

“Mind your own business !” shout- 
ed Borel, and made a pass at Yere- 
vats, who ducked and scuttled out. 
Now, thought Borel, Yerevats, will 
sulk and I’ll have to spend a day 
cajoling him back into a good humor 
or I’ll get no decent service. Damn 
it, why didn’t they have mechanical 
servants with no feelings that their 
masters had to take into account? 
Somebody had tried to make one on 
Earth, but the thing had run amok 
and mistaken its master for a cord of 
firewood . . . 

T he afternoon saw him trot- 
ting down the main avenue of 
Mishe with Zerdai by his side look- 
ing at him worshipfully. He could 
not get quite used to the curious 
sound made by the six hooves of the 
aya when it trotted. 

He asked: “Who has the right of 
way if somebody comes in from the 
side?” 

“Why, you do, Felix! You’re a 
member of the Order, even if not a 
regular Guardian!” 

“Oh.” Borel, though he had about 
as little public spirit as a man can 
have, had been exposed to the demo- 
cratic institutions of Earth long 
enough so as to find these class dis- 
tinctions distasteful. “In other 




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2S 



words, because I’m now an honorary 
knight, I can tear through the town 
at full gallop hollering ‘byant-hao!’ 
and if anybody gets run over that’s 
too bad?” 

“Naturally. What think you? But I 
forget you’re from another world. ’Tis 
one of your fascinations that beneath 
your hard adventuresome exterior 
you’re more gentle and considerate 
than the men of this land.” 

Borel hid a smile. He’d been called 
a lot of, things before, including thief, 
swindler, and slimy double-crossing 
heel, but never gentle and consid- 
erate. Maybe that was an example of 
the relativity the long-haired scien- 
tists talked about. 

“Where would you like me to 
drive you?” he asked. 

“To Earth!” she said, putting her 
head on his shoulder. For a moment 
he was almost tempted to renege on 
his plan to leave her behind. Then 
the resolute selfishness that was the 
adventurer’s leading trait came to 
his rescue, and he reminded himself 
that on a fast getaway, the less bag- 
gage the better. Love ’em and leave 
’em. Anyway, wouldn’t she be hap- 
pier if they parted before she learned 
he was no do-gooder after all? 

“Let’s to the tournament ground 
outside the North Gate. Today’s the 
battle betwixt Sir Volhadj and Sir 
Shusp.” 

“What’s this? I hadn’t heard of it.” 

“Sir Shusp forced a challenge of 
Sir Volhadj; some quarrel over the 
love of a lady. Shusp had already 
slain three knights in affrays of this 
kind.” 

Borel said : “If you Guardians are 
supposed to have everything in com- 
mon like the communists we used 
to have on Earth, I don’t see what 
call a knight has to get jealous. 
Couldn’t they both court her at 
once?” 

“That’s not the custom. A maid 
should dismiss the one before taking 
another: to do otherwise were in 
bad taste.” 

They reached the North Gate and 
ambled out into the country. Borel 
asked: “Where does this road go?” 

“Know you not? To Koloft and 
Novorecife.” 

Beyond the last houses, where the 



farmed fields began, the tournament- 
grounds lay to the right of the road. 
It reminded Borel of a North Ameri- 
can high-school football field: same 
small wooden grandstands, and tents 
at the ends where the goal-posts 
should be. In the middle of one 
stand a section had been built out 
into a box in which sat the high of- 
ficers of the Order. Hawkers circu- 
lated through the crowd, one crying; 
“Flowers ! Flowers ! Buy a flower 
with the color of your favorite 
knight! Red for Volhadj, white for 
Shusp. Flowers!” 

The stands were already full of 
people who, from the predominaiv. 
color of the flowers in their hats, 
seemed to favor Shusp. Borel ig- 
nored Zerdai’s suggestion that he 
pitch some commoner out of his seat 
and claim it for himself, and led 
her to where the late arrivals clus- 
tered standing at one end of the 
field. He was a little annoyed with 
himself for not having come in time 
to lay a few bets. This should be 
much more exciting than the ponies 
on Earth, and by shaving the odds 
and betting both ways he might put 
himself in the eviable position of 
making a profit on these saps no mat- 
ter who won. 

A S THEY took their places a 
trumpet blew. Nearby, Borel 
saw a man in Moorish-looking armor, 
wearing a spiked helmet with a nose- 
guard and a little skirt of chain- 
mail; he was sitting on a big tough- 
looking aya, also wearing bits of 
armor here and there. This Qararu 
now left his tent to trot down to 
the middle of the field. From the 
red touches about his saddle and 
equipment Borel judged him to be 
Sir Volhadj. Volhadj as the chal- 
lenged party had his sympathy, in 
line with his own distaste for 
violence. Why couldn’t the other 
gloop be a good fellow about his 
girl friend? Borel had done that sort 
of thing and found nobody the worse 
for it. 

From the other end of the field 
came another rider, similarly 
equipped but decorated in white. The 
two met at the center of the field, 
wheeled to face the grand master. 



26 



PVTVnE combined with SCiENCE FiCTiON STORIES 



and walked their mounts forward 
until they were as close as they could 
get to the booth. The grand master 
made a speech which Borel could not 
hear, and then the knights wheeled 
away and trotted back to their 
respective ends of the field. At the 
near end Sir Volhadj’s squires, or 
seconds, or whatever they were, 
handed him up a lance and a smallish 
round shield. 

The trumpet blew again and the 
antagonists galloped towards each 
other. Borel winced as they met with 
a crash in the middle of the field. 
When Borel opened his eyes again, 
he saw that the red knight had been 
knocked out of the saddle and was 
rolling over and over on the moss. 
His aya continued on without him, 
while the white knight slowed grad- 
ually as he approached Borel’s end 
of the field, then turned and headed 
back. 

Volhadj had meanwhile gotten up 
with a visible effort in his weight 
of iron and clanked over to where 
his lance lay. He picked it up, and 
as Shusp bore down on him he plant- 
ed the butt-end in the ground and 
lowered the point to the level of the 
charging aya’s chest, where the 
creature’s light armor did not pro- 
tect it. Borel could not see the spear 
go in, but he judged that it had when 
the beast reared, screamed, threw its 
rider, and collapsed kicking. Borel, 
who felt strongly about cruelty to 
animals, thought indignantly that 
there ought to be an interplanetary 
S. P. C. A. to stop this sort of thing. 

At this point the crowd began to 
jostle and push with cries of excite- 
ment, so Borel had to take his eyes 
off the fight long enough to clear 
a space with his elbows for Zerdai. 
When he looked back again the 
knights were at it on foot, making a 
tremendous din, Shusp with a huge 
two-handed sword, Vohadj with his 
buckler and a sword of more normal 
size. 

They circled around one another, 
slashing, thrusting, and parrying, 
and worked their way slowly down 
to Borel’s end of the field, till he 
could see the dents in their armor 
and the trickle of blood running 
down the chin of Sir Volhadj. By 



now, both were so winded that the 
fight was going as slowly as an 
honest wrestling-match, with both 
making a few swipes and then stop- 
ping to pant and glare at each other 
for a while. 

Then in the midst of an exchange 
of strokes. Sir Volhadj’s sword flew 
up, turning over and over until it 
came down at Shusp’s feet. Sir Shusp 
instantly put a foot on it and forced 
Sir Volhadj back with a swing of his 
crowbar-like blade. Then he picked 
up the dropped sword and threw it 
as far away as he could. 

Borel asked: “Hey, is he allowed 
to do that?” 

“I know not,” said Zerdai. 
“Though there be few rules, mayhap 
that’s against them.” 

Shusp now advanced rapidly on 
Volhadj, who was reduced to a shield 
battered all out of shape and a dag- 
ger. The latter gave ground, parry- 
ing the swipes as best he could. 

“Why doesn’t the fool cut and 
run?” asked Borel. 

Zerdai stared at him. “Know you 
not that for a knight of the Order 
the penalty for cowardice is flaying 
alive?” 

At the rate, Volhadj was backing 
towards them he’d soon be treading 
on the toes of the spectators, who in 
fact began to spread out nervously. 
Volhadj was staggering, dishearten- 
ing Borel, who hated to see his 
favorite nearing his rope’s end. 

N A SUDDEN impulse, Borel 
drew his own sword and called : 
“Hey, Volhadj, don’t look now but 
here’s something for you!” With, 
that he threw the sword as if it had 
been a javelin, so that the point stuck 
into the ground alongside of 
Volhadj. The latter dropped his 
dagger, snatched up the sword, and 
tore into Shusp with renewed vigor. 

Then Shusp went down with a 
clang. Vohadj, standing over him, 
found a gap in his armor around the 
throat, put the point there, and 
pushed down on the hilt with ’>oth 
hands. . . When Borel opened his 
eyes again, Shusp’s legs were giving 
their last twitch. Cheers and the 
paying of bets. 




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2 ? 



Volhadj came back to where Borel 
stood and said: “Sir Felix the Red, 
I perceive you succored me but 
now.” 

“How d’you know that?” 

“By your empty scabbard, friend. 
Here, take your sword with my 
thanks. I doubt the referee will hold 
your deed a foul, since the chief 
complainant will no longer be pres- 
ent to press his case. Call on me for 
help any time.” He shook hands 
warmly and walked wearily off to 
his wigwam. 

“ ’Twas a brave deed, Felix,” said 
Zerdai, squeezing his arm as they 
walked back to the buggy through 
the departing crowd. 

“I don’t see that it was anything 
special,” said Borel truthfully. 

“Why, had Sir Shusp won, he’d 
have challenged you!" 

“GlukV said Borel. He hadn’t 
thought of that. 

“What is it, my dearest?” 
“Something caught in my throat. 
Let’s get back to dinner ahead of 
he crowd, huh? Giddap, Galahad!” 
However, Zerdai retired after din- 
ner, saying she would not be back 
for supper; the excitement had giv- 
en her a headache. 

Kubanan said : “ ’Tis a rare thing, 
for she’s been in better spirits since 
your arrival than was her wont since 
Sir Shurgez departed.” 

“You mean she was grieving for 
a boy-friend until I came along and 
cheered her up?” Borel thought, 
Kubanan’ s a nice old wump; too bad 
he’ll have to be the fall guy lor the 
project. But business is business. 

“Yes. Ah, Felix, it’s sad you’re of 
another species, so that she’ll never 
lay you an egg! For the Order can 
use offspring inheriting your quali- 
ties. Even I, sentimental old fool 
that I am, like to think of you as a 
son-in-law and Zerdai’s eggs as my 
own grandchildren, as though I were 
some simple commoner with a fami- 
ly.” 

Borel asked : “What’s this about 
Shurgez? What happened to him?” 
“The grand master ordered him 
on a quest.” 



“What quest?" 

“To fetch the beard of the King 
of Balhib.” 

“And what docs the Order want 
with this king’s beard? Are you go- 
ing into the upholstery business?” 

Kubanan laughed. “Of course not. 
The King of Balhib has treated the 
Order with scorn and contumely of 
late, and we thought to tdsch him a 
lesson.” 

“And why was Shurgez sent?” 

“Because of his foul murder of 
Brother Sir Zamran.” 

“Why did he murder Zamran?” 

“Surely you know the tale — but I 
forget, you’re still new here. Sir 
Zamran was he who slew Shurgez’s 
Udy.” 

“I thought Zerdai was Shurgez’s 
girl." 

“She was, but afterward. Let me 
begin at the beginning. Time was 
when Sir Zamran and the Lady Few 
zi were lovers, all right and deco- 
rous in accord with the customs of 
the Order. Then for some reason 
Lady Fevzi cast off Zamran, as she 
had every right to do, ax»d took Sir 
Shurgez in his stead. This made Sir 
Zamran wroth, and instead of taking 
his defeat philosophically like a 
true knight, what does he do but 
come up behind Lady Fevzi at the 
ball celebrating the conjunction of 
the planets Vishnu and Ganesha, 
and smite off her head just as she 
was presenting a home-made pie to 
the grand master!” 

“Wow!” said Borel with an honest 
shudder. 

“True, ’twas no knightly deed, es- 
pecially in front of the grand mas- 
ter, not to mention the difficulty of 
cleansing the carpet. If he had to 
slay her he should at least have 
taken her outside. The grand master, 
most annoyed, would have rebuked 
Zeunran severely for his discourtesy, 
but he’s hardly past the preamble 
when Sir Shurgez comes in to ask 
after his sweetling, sees the scene, 
and leaps upon Zamran with hu| 
dagger before any can stay him. So 
then we have two spots on the rug 
to clean and the grand master in a 



28 



FVTVRE combined with SCIENCE FICTION STORIES 



fair fury. The upshot was that he 
ordered Shurgez on this quest to 
teach him to issue his challenges in 
due form and not go thrusting 
knives among the ribs of any who 
incur his displeasure. No doubt he 
half hoped that Shurgez would be 
slain in the doing, for tne King of 
Balhib is no effeminate.” 

Borel was sure now that nothing 
would ever induce him to settle 
permanently among such violent 
people. “When did Shurgez get time 
to — uh — be friends with Zerdai?” 
“Why, he couldn’t leave before the 
astrological indications were favor- 
able, to wit for twenty-one days, and 
during that time he enjoyed my sec- 
retary’s favor. Far places have ever 
attracted her, and I think she’d have 
gone with him if he’d have had her.” 
“What’s the word about Shurgez 
now?” 

“The simplest word of all, to wit: 
no word. Should he return, my spies 
will tell me of his approach before 
he arrives.” 

Borel became aware that the click- 
ing sound that had puzzled him was 
the chatter of his own teeth. He re- 
solved to ride herd on Henjare the 
next day to rush the model through 
to completion. 

“One more question,” he said. 
“Whatever became of Lady Fevzi’s 
pie?” Kubanan could not tell him 
that, however. 

T he model was in fact well 
enough so that Borel asked the 
grand master for the perpetual-mo- 
tion meeting the following day. Al- 
though he expected an evening meet- 
ing, with all the knights full of din- 
ner and feeling friendly, it turned 
out that the only time available on 
the grand master’s schedule was in 
the morning. 

“Of course. Brother Felix,” said 
Sir Djuvain, “if you prefer to put it 
off a few days. . 

“No, most mighty potentate,” said 
Borel, thinking of the Shurgez men- 
ace. “The sooner the better for you, 
me, and the Order.” 

Thus it happened that the next 
morning, after breakfast, Felix Borel 
found himself on the platform of the 



main auditorium of the citadel, fac- 
ing several thousand knights of the 
Order of Qarar. Beside him on a 
small table stood his gleaming new 
brass model of the perpetual-motion 
wheel. A feature of the wheel not 
obvious to the audience was a little 
pulley on the shaft, around which 
was wound a fine but strong thread 
made of hairs from the tails of sho- 
mals, which led from the wheel off 
into the wings where Zerdai stood 
hidden from view. It had taken all 
Borel’s blandishments to get her to 
play this role. 

He launched into his speech: 
“...what is the purpose and func- 
tion of our noble Order? Power! 
And what is the 'oasis of power? 
First, our own strong right arras; 
second, the wealth of the Order, 
which in turn is derived from the 
wealth of the commons. So anything 
that enriches the commons increases 
our power, does it not? Let me give 
you an example. There’s a railroad, 
I hear, from Madjbur to Djazmurian 
along the coast, worked by bishtars 
pulling little strings of cars. Now, 
mount one of my wheels on a car 
and connect it by a belt or chain to 
the wheels. Start the wheel revolv- 
ing, and what happens? The car 
with its wheel will pull far more 
cars than a bishtar, and likewise it 
never grows old and dies as an ani- 
mal does, never runs amok and 
smashes property, and when not in 
use stands quietly in its shed with- 
out needing to be fed. We could 
build a railroad from Mishe to Mad- 
jbur and another from Mishe to 
Djazmurian, and carry goods faster 
between the coastal cities than it is 
now carried by the direct route. 
There’s a source of infinite wealth, 
of which the Order w'ould of course 
secure its due share. 

“Then there is the matter of 
weapons. I cannot go into details 
because many of these are confiden- 
tial, but I have positive assurance 
that there are those who would trade 
the mighty weapons of the Inter- 
planetary Council for the secret of 
this little wheel. You know what 
that would mean. Think it over. 

“Now I will show you how it ac- 



WIDE-OPEN PLANET 



29 



tually works. This model you see 
is not a true working wheel, but a 
mere toy, an imitation to give you 
an idea of the finished wheel, which 
would be much larger. This little 
wheel will not give enough power to 
be very useful. Why? Friction. The 
mysterious sciences of my native 
planet found centuries ago that 
friction is proportionately larger in 
small machines than in large ones. 
Therefore the fact that this little 
wheel won’t give useful power is 
proof that a larger one would. How- 
ever, the little wheel still gives 
enough power to run itself without 
outside help. 

“Are you watching, brothers? Ob- 
serve: I release the brake that pre- 
vents the wheel from turning. Hold 
your breaths, sirs — ah, it moves! It 
turns! The secret of the ages comes 
to life before you!" 

H e had signalled Zerdai, who 
had begun to pull on the 
thread, reeling in one end of it 
while paying out the other. The 
wheel turned slowly, the little brass 
legs going click-click-click as they 
reached the trip at the top. 

“Eehold!" yelled Borel. “It works! 
The Order is all-rich and all-power- 
ful!" 

After letting the wheel spin for a 
minute or so, Borel resumed: 
“Brothers, what must we do to re- 
alize on this wonderful invention,? 
One, we need funds to build a num- 
ber of large wheels to try out vari- 
ous applications: to power ships and 
rail-cars, to run grist-mills, and to 
turn the shafts of machines in work- 
shops. No machine is ever perfect 
when first completed; there are al- 
ways details to be improved. Second, 
we need an organization to exploit 
the wheel : to make treaties with oth- 
er states to lease wheels from us and 
to give us the exclusive right to ex- 
ploit wheels within their boreders; 
and to negotiate with the powers 
that be to exchange the secret of the 
wheel for — I need go no further! 

“On Earth we have a type of or- 
ganization called a corporation for 
such purposes..." And he launched 



into the account he had previously 
given Kubanan and Djuvain. 

“Now," he said, “what do we need 
for this corporation? The officers of 
the Order and I have agreed that to 
start, the treasury shall advance the 
sum of 245,000 karda, for which the 
Order shall receive forty-nine per- 
cent of the stock of the company. 
The remaining fifty-one percent will 
naturally remain with the promoter 
and director of the company; that’s 
the arrangement we’ve found most 
successful on Earth. However, be- 
fore such a large sum can be invest- 
ed in this great enterprise, we must 
in accordance with the constitution 
let you vote on the question. First 
I had better stop our little wheel 
here, lest the noise distract you.” 

The clicking stopped as Borel put 
his hand against the wheel. Zerdai 
broke the thread with a quick jerk, 
gathered it all in, and slipped away 
from her hiding-place. 

Borel continued: “I therefore 

turn the meeting back to our friend, 
guide, counsellor, and leader. Grand 
Master Sir Djuvain." 

The Grand Master put the vote, 
and the appropriation passed by a 
large majority. As the knights 
cheered, Kubanan led a line of pages 
staggering under bags of coins to 
the stage, where the bags were 
ranged in a row on the boards. 

Borel, when he could get silence 
again, said: “1 thank you one and 
all. If any would care to examine my 
little wheel, they shall see for 
themselves that no trickery is in- 
volved.” 

The Garma Qararuma climbed up 
en masse to congratulate Borel. The 
adventurer, trying not to seem to 
gloat over the money, was telling 
himself that once he got away with 
this bit of swag he’d sell it for 
World Federation dollars, go back 
to Earth, invest his fortune conserv- 
atively, and never have to worry 
about money again. Of course he’d 
promised himself the same thing on 
several previous occasions, but some- 
how the money always seemed to dis- 
sipate before he got around to in- 
vesting it 



30 



FVTUMtE combined wi+h SCIENCE FICTION STORIES 



5 

IR VOLHADJ was pushing 
through the crowd, saying: 
“Sir B'elix, may I speak to you 
aside?” 

“Sure. What is it?” 

“How feel you?” 

“Fine. Never better.” 

“That’s good, for Shurgez has re- 
turned to Mishe with his mission 
accomplished.” 

“What’s that?” said Kubanan. 
“Shurgez back, and my spies haven’t 
told me?” 

“Right, my lord.” 

“Oh-oh,” said the treasurer. “If 
he challenges you. Sir Felix, you 
will, as a knight, have to give him 
instant satisfaction. What arms own 
you besides that sword?” 

“G 1 u k,” said Borel. “N-none. 
Doesn’t the challenge party have a 
choice of weapons?” he asked with 
some vague idea of specifying 
boxing-gloves. 

“According to the rules of the 
Order,” said Volhadj, “each fighter 
may use what weapons he pleases. 
Shurgez will indubitably employ the 
full panoply: lance, sword, and a 
mace or ax in reserve, and will en- 
ter the lists in full armor. As for 
you — well, since you and I are much 
of a size, feel free to borrow aught 
that you need.” 

Before Borel could say anything 
more, a murmur and a head-turning 
apprised him of the approach of 
some interest. As the crowd parted, 
a squat, immensely muscular, and 
very Mongoloid-looking knight came 
forward. “Are you he whom they 
call Sir Felix the Red?” asked the 
newcomer. 

“Y-yes,” said Borel, icicles of fear 
running through his viscera. 

“I am Sir Shurgez. It has been 
revealed to me that in my absence 
you’ve taken the Lady Zerdai as 
your companion. Therefore I name 
you a vile traitor, scurvy knave, 
villanious rascal, base mechanic, and 
foul foreigner, and shall be at the 
tournament-grounds immediately af- 
ter lunch to prove my assertions 
upon your diseased and ugly body. 



Here, you thing of no account!** 
And Sir Shurgez, who had been 
peeling off his glove, threw it light- 
ly in Borel’s face. 

“I’ll fight you!” shouted Borel in 
a sudden surge of temper. “Baghan! 
Zeit!” He added a few more Go- 
zashtandou obscenities and threw 
the glove back at Shurgez, who 
caught it, laughed shortly, and 
turned his back. 

“That’s that,” said Kubanan as 
Shurgez marched off. “Sure am I 
that so bold and experienced a 
knight as yourself will make mince- 
meat of yon braggart. Shall I have 
my pages convey the gold to your 
chamber while we lunch?” 

Borel felt like saying: “I don’t 
want any lunch,” but judged it im- 
politic. His wits, after the first mo- 
ment of terror-stricken paralysis, 
had begun to work again. First he 
felt sorry for himself. What had he 
done to deserve this? Why had he 
joined this crummy club, where in- 
stead of swindling each other like 
gentlemen the members settled dif- 
ferences by the cruel and barbarous 
methods of physical combat? All 
he’d done was to keep Zerdai happy 
while this blug was away... 

Then he pulled himself together 
and tried to think his way out of the 
predicament. Should he simply re- 
fuse to fight? That meant skinning 
alive. Could he sprain an ankle? 
Maybe, but with all these people 
standing around . . . Why hadn’t he 
told that well-meaning sap Volhadj 
that he was sick unto death? 

And now how could he get away 
with the gold? It was probably too 
heavy for the buggy; he’d need a 
big two-aya carriage, which couldn’t 
be obtained in a matter of minutes. 
How could he make his getaway at 
all before the fight? With his dear 
damned friends clustering round... 

They were filling him with good 
advice: “I knew a man who’d begin 
a charge with lance level, then whirl 
it around his head as ’twere a 
club...” “V/hen, Sir Vardao slew 
that wight from Gozashtand, he 
dropped his lance altogether and 
snatched his mace...” “If you can 
get him around the neck with one 




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31 



arm, go for his crotch with your 
dagger. . 

What he really wanted was advice 
on how to sneak out of the acropolis 
and make tracks for Novorecife with 
a third of the Order’s treasury. 
When he had gulped the last taste- 
less morsel, he said : “Good sirs, 
please excuse me. I have things to 
say to those near to me.” 

Z ERDAI was crying on her bed. 

He picked her up and kissed 
her. She responded avidly ; this was 
an Earthly custom on which the 
Krishnans had eagerly seized. 

“Come,” he said, “it’s not that 
bad.” 

She clung to him frantically. “But 
I love only you ! I couldn’t live 
without you! And I’ve been counting 
so on going with you to far plan- 
ets...” 

Borel’s vestigial conscience 
stirred, and in a rare burst of frank- 
ness he said; “Look, Zerdai, it’ll be 
small loss no matter how the fight 
comes out. I’m not the shining hero 
you think I am; in fact some people 
consider me an unmitigated heel.” 
“No! No! You’re kind and 
good ...” 

“. ..and even if I get through this 
alive I may have to run for it with- 
out you.” 

“I’ll die! I could never companion 
with that brute Shurgez again. . .” 
Borel thought of giving her some 
of the gold, since he couldn’t hope 
to get it all away himself. But then 
with the Guardians’ communistic 
principles she couldn’t keep it, and 
the Order would seize all he left 
iti any case. Finally he unpinned 
several of his more glittery decora- 
tions a:, "y* handed them to her, say- 
ing: 

“At least you’ll have these to re- 
member me by.” That seemed to 
break her down completely. 

He found Yerevats in his own 
room and said: “If the fight doesn’t 
go my way, take as much of this 
gold as you can carry, and the bug- 
gjy, and get out of town fast.” 

“Oh, wonderful master must win 
fight!” 



“That’s as the stars decide. Hops 
for the best but expect the worse.” 
“But master, how shall pull bug- 
gy?” 

“Keep the aya too. Volhadj ii 
lending me his oversized one foi 
the scrap. Tell you what: when w« 
go out to the field, bring one of 
those bags inside your clothes.” 

A n hour later Yerevats buckled 
the last strap of Borel’s bor- 
rowed harness. The suit was a com- 
posite, chain-mail over the joints 
and plate-armor elsewhere. Borel 
found that it hampered him less 
than be expected, considering how 
heavy it had seemed when he hefted 
before putting it on. 

He stepped out of the tent at his 
end of the field, where Volhadj was 
holding the big aya, which turned 
and looked at him suspiciously from 
under its horns. At the far en^ 
Shurgez already sat his mount. Bo- 
rel, though outwardly calm, was re- 
viling himself for not having 
thought of this and that: he should 
have hinted that his weapon would 
be a gun; he should have bought i 
bishtar and sat high up on its ele- 
phantine back, out of reach o! 
Shurgez, while he potted his enem| 
with his crossbow. . . 

Yer^evats, bustling about the ani- 
mal’s saddle, secured the bag he had 
brought with him. Although he tried 
to do so secretly, the jingle of coin 
attracted the attention of Volhadj, 
who asked: “A bag of gold on yom 
saddle? Why do you that, friend?” 
“Luck,” said Borel, feeling for th« 
stirrup. His first effort to swing 
his leg over his mount failed because 
of the extra weight he was carry- 
ing, and they had to give him a 
boost. Yerevats handed him up his 
spiked helmet, which he carefully 
wiggled down onto his head. At 
once the outside noises acquired a 
muffled quality as the sound was 
filtered through the steel and the 
padding. Borel buckled his chin- 
strap. 

A horn blew. As he had seen the 
other knights do the day of the pre- 
vious battle, Borel kicked the animal 



32 



FVTVItE combined with SCtEXCE FICTION STORIES 



into motion and rode slowly down 
the field towards his opponent, who 
advanced to meet him. Thank the 
Lord he knew how to ride an Earth- 
ly horse! This was not much dif- 
ferent save that the fact that the 
saddle was directly over the aya’s 
intermediate pair of legs caused its 
rider to be jarred unpleasantly in 
the trot. 

B o r e 1 could hardly recognize 
Shurgez behind the nasal of his 
helmet, and he supposed that his 
own features were equally hidden. 
Without a word they wheeled to- 
wards the side of the field where 
the grand master sat in his booth. 
They walked their animals over to 
the stand and listened side by side 
while Sir Djuvain droned the rules 
of the contest at them. Borel 
thought it an awful lot of words to 
say that, for all practical purposes, 
anything went. 

Beside the grand master sat Ku- 
banan, stony-faced except at the last, 
when he tipped Borel a wink. Borel 
also caught a glimpse of Zerdai in 
the stands; catching his eye, she 
waved frantically. 

The grand master finished and 
made motions with his baton. The 
fighters wheeled away from each 
other and trotted back to their re- 
spective tents, where Volhadj handed 
Borel his lance and buckler, saying: 
“Hold your shaft level; watch 
his...” Borel, preoccupied, heard 
none of it. 

“Get you ready,” said Volhadj. 
The trumpet blew. 

Borel, almost bursting with ex- 
citement, said: “Good-bye, and 

thanks.” 

T he hooves of Shurgez’s 

mount were were already drum- 
ming on the moss before Borel col- 
lected his wits enough to put his 
own beast into motion. For a long 
time, it seemed, he rode towards a 
little figure on aya-back that got no 
nearer. Then all at once the aya 
and its rider expanded to life-size 
and Borel’s foe was upon him. 

Since Shurgez had started sooner 
and ridden harder, they met short of 



the mid-point of the field. As his 
enemy bore down, Borel rose in his 
stirrups and threw his lance at 
Shurgez, then instantly hauled on 
the reins braided into the aya’s mus- 
tache to guide it to the right. 

Shurgez ducked as the lance hur- 
tled toward him, so that the point 
of his own lance wavered and missed 
Borel by a metre. Borel heard the 
thrown spear hit sideways with a 
clank against Shurgez’s armor. Then 
he was past and headed for Shur- 
gez’s tent at the far end. He leaned 
forward and spurred his aya merci- 
lessly. 

Just before he reached the end of 
the field he jerked a look back. 
Shurgez was still reining in to turn 
his mount. Borel switched his at- 
tention back to where he was going 
and aimed for a gap on one side of 
Shurgez’s tent. The people around 
the tent stood staring until the last 
minute, then frantically dove out of 
the way as the aya thundered 
through. Yells rose behind. 

Borel guided his beast over to the 
main road towards Novorecife, se- 
cured the reins to the projection on 
the front of the saddle, and began 
shedding impedimenta. Off went the 
pretty damascened helmet, to fall 
with a clank to the roadway. Away 
went sword and battle-ax. After 
some fumbling he got rid of the 
brassets on his forearms and their 
attached gauntlets, and when the 
cuirass with its little chain sleeves. 
The iron pants would have to await 
a better opportunity. 

The aya kept on at a dead run un- 
til Mishe dwindled in the distance. 
When the beast began to puff alarm- 
ingly, Borel let it slow to a walk 
for a while. However, when he 
looked back he thought he saw lit- 
tle dots on the road that might be 
pursuers, and spurred his mount to 
a gallop once more. When the dots 
disappeared he slowed again. Gallop 
— trot — walk — trot — gallop — that was 
how ' you covered long distances on 
a horse, so it should work on this 
six-legged equivalent. O for a nice 
shiny Packard! After this he’d con- 
fine his effort to Earth, where at 
least you knew the score. 



WIDE-OPEN PLANET 



33 



He looked scornfully down at the 
bag of gold clinking faintly at the 
side of his saddle. One bag was all 
he had dared to take for fear of 
slowing his mount. It was not a bad 
haul for small-time stuff, and would 
let him live and travel long enough 
to case his next set of suckers. Still, 
it was nothing compared to what 
he’d have made if the damned Shur- 
gez hadn't popped up so inoppor- 
tunely. If, now, he’d been able to 
get away with the proceeds both of 
the stock sale and of the lottery... 

EXT MORNING found Borel 
still on the aya’s back, plod- 
ding over the causeway through the 
Koloft Swamps. Flying things 
buzzed and bit; bubbles of stinking 
gas rose through the black water 
and burst. Now and then some slug- 
gish swamp-dwelling creature roiled 
the surface or grunted a mating-call. 
A shower had soaked Borel during 
the night, and in this dank atmos- 
phere his clothes seemed never to 
dry. 

With yelping cries, the tailed men 
of Koloft broke from the bushes and 
ran towards him: Yerevats’s wild 
bretheren with stone-bladed knives 
and spears, hairy, naked, and fear- 
ful-looking. Borel spurred the aya 
into a shambling trot. The tailed 
men scrambled to the causeway just 
too late to seize him; a thrown spear 
went past his head with a swish. 

Borel threw away his kindness-to- 
animals principle and dug spurs 
into the aya’s flanks. They pounded 
after him. In fact by squirming 
around he could see that they were 
actually gaining on him. Another 
spear came whistling along. Borel 
flinched, and the spear-head struck 
the cantle of his saddle and broke, 
leaving a sliver of obsidian sticking 
into the saddle as the shaft clattered 
to the causeway. The next one, he 
thought gloomily, would be a hit. 

Then inspiration seized him. If he 
could get his money-bag open and 
throw a handful of gold to the road- 
way, these savages might stop to 
scramble for it. His fingers tore at 
Yerevats’s lashings. 

And then the twenty-kilo weight of 



the gold snatched the whole bag 
from his grasp. Clank! Gold pieces 
spilled out of the open mouth of the 
sack and rolled in little circles on 
the causeway. The tailed men 
whooped and pounced on them, 
abandoning their chase. While Borel 
was glad not to have to dodge any 
more spears, he did think the price 
a little steep. However, to go back 
to dispute possession of the money 
now would be merely a messy form 
of suicide, so he rode wearily on. 

He reeled into Novorecife about 
noon, and was no sooner inside the 
wall than a man in the uniform of 
Abreu’s security force said: “Is the 
senhor Felix Borel?’’ 

“Huh?” He had been thinking in 
Gozashtandou so long that in his ex- 
hausted state the Brazilo-Portu- 
guese of the spaceways at first was 
entirely meaningless to him. 

“I said, is the senhor Felix Bo- 
rel?” 

“Yes. Sir Felix Borel to be exact. 
What—” 

“I don’t care what the senhor 
calls himself ; he’s under arrest.” 

“What for?” 

“Violation of Regulation 368. 
Vamos, por favor!” 

B orel demanded a lawyer at 
the preliminary hearing, and 
since he could not pay for one. 
Judge Keshavachandra appointed 
Manuel Sandak. Abreu presented his 
case. 

Borel asked: “Senhor Abrew, how 
the devil did you find out about this 
little project of mine so quickly?” 
The judge said: “Address your re- 
marks to the court, please. The Se- 
curity Office has its methods, na- 
turally. Have you anything perti- 
nent to say?” 

Borel whispered to Sandak, who 
rose and said : “It is the contention 
of the defense that the case present- 
ed by the Security Office is prima 
facie invalid, because the device in 
question, to wit: a wheel allegedly 
embodying the principle of perpetu- 
al motion, is inherently inoperative, 
being in violation of the well- 
known law of conservation of ener- 
gy. Regulation 368 specifically states 




34 



FVTVnE combined with SCIENCE FICTION ST0KIES 



that it’s forbidden to communicate 
a device ‘representing an improve- 
ment upon the science and technics 
already ciiisting upon this planet.’ 
But since this gadget wouldn’t work 
by any stretch of the imagination 
it’s no improvement on anything.” 
“You mean,” sputtered Abreu, 
“that it was all a fake, a swindle?” 
“Sure,” said Borel, laughing heart- 
ily at the security officer’s expres- 
sion. 

Abreu said: “My latest informa- 
tion says that you actually demon- 
strated the device the day before 
yesterday in the auditorium of tlie 
Order of Qarar at Mishe. What have 
you to say to that?” 

“That was a fake too,” said Borel, 
and told of the thread pulled by 
Zerdai in the wings. 

“Just how is this gadget supposed 
to work?” asked the judge. Borel ex- 
plained. Keshavachandra exclaimed: 
“Good Lord, that form of perpetual- 
motion device goes back to the Eu- 
ropean Middle Ages! I remember a 
case involving it when I was a pa- 
tent lav/yer in India.” He turned to 
Abreu, saying: “Does that descrip- 
tion check with your information?” 
“Sim, Vossa Excelencia.” He 
turned on Borel. “I knew you were 
a crook, but I never expected you to 
brag on the fact as part of a legal 
charge !”. 

“Bureaucrat!” sneered Borel. 

“No personalities,” snapped Judge 
Keshavachandra. “I’m afraid I can’t 
bind him over, Senhor Cristovao.” 
“How, about a charge of swin- 
dling?” said Abreu hopefully. 

Sandak jumped up. “You can’t, 
your honor. The act was committed 
in Mikardand, so this court has no 
jurisdiction.” 

“How about holding him until we 
see if the Republic wants him 
back?” said Abreu. 

Sandak said : “That won’t work 
either. We have no extradition 
treaty with Mikardand because their 
legal code doesn’t meet the minimum 
requirements of the Interplanetary 
Juridical Commission. Moreover the 
courts hold that a suspect may not 
be forcibly returned to a jurisdiction 



where he’d be liable to be killed on 
sight.” 

The judge said : “I’m afraid he’s 
right again, Senhor. However we 
still have some powers over undesira- 
bles. Draw me a request £or an ex- 
pulsion order and I’ll sign it quicker 
than you can say ‘non vult’. There 
are ships leaving in a few days, and 
we can give him his choice of them. 
I dislike inflicting him on other 
jurisdictions, but I don’t know what 
else we can do.” He added with a 
smile : “He’ll probably turn up here 
again like a bad anna, with a cop 
three jumps behind him. Talk of 
perpetual motion, he’s it!” 

OREL slouched into the Nova 
lorque Bar and ordered a dou- 
ble comet. He fished his remaining 
money out of his pants pocket : 
about four and a half karda. This 
might feed him until he took off. Or 
it might provide him with a first- 
class binge. He decided on the binge; 
if he got drunk enough he wouldn’t 
care about food in the interim. 

He caught a glimpse of himself in 
the mirror back of the bar, unshaven, 
with eyes as red as his hair and his 
gorgeous private uniform unpressed 
and weather-beaten. Most of the 
bravado had leaked out of him. If 
he’d avoided the Noverecife jail, he 
was still about to be shipped God 
knew where, without even a stake to 
get started again. The fact that he 
was getting his transportation free 
gave him no pleasure, for he knew 
space-travel for the ineffable bore 
it was. 

Now that Zerdai was irrevocably 
lost to him, he kidded himself into 
thinking that he’d really intended to 
take her with him as he’d promised. 
He wallov/ed in self-pity. Maybe he 
should even go to work, repugnant 
though the idea appeared. (He al- 
ways thought of reforming when he 
got into a jam like this.) But who’d 
employ him around Novorecife when 
he was in Abreu’s black books? To 
go back to Mikardand would be sil- 
ly. Why hadn’t he done this, or 
that . . . 

Borel became aware of a man 
drinking down the bar ; a stout 




WIDE-OPEN PLANET 



35 



middle-aged person with a look of 
sleepy good-nature 

Borel said: “New here, senhor?” 
“Yes,” said the man. “I just came 
in two days ago from Earth.” 

“(Good old Earth,” said Borel. 
“Good old Earth is right.” 

“Let me buy you a drink,” said 
Borel. 

"I will if you’ll let me buy you 
one.” 

“Maybe that can be arranged. How 
long are you here for?” 

“I don’t know yet.” 

“What do you mean, you don’t 
know yet?” 

“I’ll tell you. When I arrived, I 
wanted a good look at the planet. 
But now I’ve finished my official 
business and seen everything in 
Ncvorecife, and I can’t go wander- 
ing around the native states because 
I don’t speak t’ne languages. I hoped 
to pick up a guide, but everybody 
seems too busy at some job of his 
own.” 

Borel, instantly alert, asked : 
“What sort of tour did you have in 
mind?” 

“Oh, through the Gozashtandou 
Empire, perhaps touching the Free 
City of Madjbur, and maybe swing- 
ing around to Balhib on my way 
back.” 

“That would be a swell tour,” said 
Borel. “Of course it would take you 
through some pretty wild country, 
and you’d have to ride an aya. No 
carriages. Also there’d be some risk.” 
“That’s all right, I’ve ridden a 
horse ever since I was a boy. As 
for the risk, I’ve had a couple of 
centuries already, and I might as 



well have some fun before I get 
really old.” 

“Have another,” said Borel. “You 
know, we might be able to make a 
deal on that. I just finished a job. 
My name’s Felix Borel, by the way.” 

“I’m Semion Trofimov,” said the 
man. “Would you be seriously in- 
terested in acting as a guide? I 
thought from your rig that you 
were some official...” 

Borel barely heard the rest. Semi- 
on Trofimov! A big-shot if ever 
there was one; a director of Viagens 
Interplanetarias, member of various 
public boards and commissions, of- 
ficer of capitalistic and cooperative 
enterprises back on Elarth ... At least 
there’d be no question of the man’s 
ability to pay well, and to override 
these local bureaucrats who wanted 
to ship Borel an3rwhere so long as it 
was a few light-years away. 

“Sure, Senhor Semion,” he said. 
“I’ll give you a tour such as no 
Earthman ever had. There’s a fa- 
mous waterfall in northern Ruz, for 
instance, that few Earthmen have 
seen. And then do you know how 
the Kingdom of Balhib is organized? 
A very interesting set-up. In fact 
I’ve often thought a couple of smart 
Earthmen with a little capital could 
start an enterprise there, all per- 
fectly legal, and clean up. I’ll ex- 
plain it later. Meanwhile we’d better 
get our gear together. Got a sword? 
And a riding-outfit? I know an 
honest Koloftu we can get for a 
servant, if I can find him, and I’ve 
got one aya already. As for that 
Balhib scheme, an absolutely sure 
thing. . .” 



THE END 



The Door is Wide Open 

Dear Reader; 

This is a repeat invitation to join the gang of science-fiction readers who write 
letters to the editor. The time is now. The place — DOWN TO EARTH, c/o 
FUTURE, Columbia Publications, Inc., 241 Church Street, New York 13, New York. 
R. S. V. P. 

Sincerely yours, 

The Editor 



Flight From ir ^ 
^ ^ Tomorrow 




36 




Hunted and hated in two 



worlds, Hradzka dreamed of a 
monomaniac’s glory, stranded in 
the past with his knowledge of the 
future. But he didn’t know the past 
quite well enough . . . 



|UT YESTERDAY, a whole 
planet had shouted ; Hail 
'Hradzka! Hail the Leader! 
Today, they were screaming: Death 
to Hradzka! Kill the tyrant! 

The Palace, where Hradzka, sur- 
rounded by his sycophants and 
guards, had lorded it over a solar sys- 
tem, was now an inferno. Those who 
had been too closely identified with 
the dictator’s rule to hope for for- 
giveness were fighting to the last, 
seeking only a quick death in com- 
bat; one by one, their isolated points 
of resistance were being wiped out. 
The corridors and chambers of the 
huge palace were thronged with 
relwls, loud with their shouts, and 



37 



38 FVTI RE combined with SCMENCE FiCTtON STORIES 



with the rasping hiss of heat-beams 
and the crash of blasters, reeking 
with the stench of scorched plastic 
and burned flesh, of hot metal and 
charred fabric. The living quarters 
were overrun ; the mob smashed 
down walls and tore up floors in 
search of secret hiding-places. They 
found strange things — the space-ship 
that had been built under one of the 
domes, in readiness for flight to the 
still-loyal colonies on Mars or the 
Asteroid Belt, for instance — but 
Hradzka himself they could not find. 

At last, the search reached the 
New Tower which reared its head five 
thousand feet above the palace, the 
highest thing in the city. They blasted 
down the huge steel doors, cut the 
power from the energy-screens. They 
landed from antigrav-cars on the up- 
per levels. But except for barriers 
of metal and concrete and energy, 
they met with no opposition. Final- 
ly, they came to the spiral stairway 
which led up to the great metal 
sphere which capped the whole struc- 
ture. 

General Zarvas, the Army Com- 
mander who had placed himself at 
the head of the revolt, stood with 
his foot on the lowest step, his fol- 
lowers behind him] There was Prince 
Burvanny, the leader of the old no- 
bility, and Ghorzesko Orhm, the mer- 
chant, and between them stood 
Tobbh, the chieftain of the mutinous 
slaves. There w>ere clerks; laborers; 
poor but haughty nobles ; and 
wealthy merchants who had long 
been forced to hide their riches from 
the dictator’s tax-gatherers, and sol- 
diers, and spacemen. 

“You’d better let some of us go 
first sir,’’ General Zarvas’ orderly, 
a blood-stained bandage about his 
head, his uniform in rags, suggested. 
“You don’t know what might be up 
there.’’ 

The General shook his head. “I’ll 
go first,” Zarvas Pol was not the 
man to send subordinates into dan- 
ger ahead of himseelf. “To tell the 
truth, I’m afraid we won’t find any- 
thing at all up there.” 

“You mean...?*’ Ghorzesko Orhm 
began. 

^he ‘time-machine’,” Zarvas Pol 



replied. “If he’s .managed to get it 
finished, the Great Mind only knows 
where he may be, now. Or when.” 

He loosened the blaster in his hol- 
ster and started up the long spiral. 
His followers spread out, below: 
sharp-shooters took position to cover 
his ascent. Prince Burvanny and 
Tobbh the Slave started to follow 
him. They hesitated as each motioned 
the other to precede him; then the 
nobleman followed the general, bis 
blaster drawn, and the brawny slave 
behind him. 

The door at the top was open, and 
Zarvas Pol stepped through but 
there was nothing in the great spher- 
ical room except a raised dias some 
fifty feet in diameter, its polished 
metal top strangely clean ami 
empty. And a crumpled heap of 
burned cloth and charred flesh that 
had, not long ago, been a man. An 
old man with a white beard, and the 
seven-pointed star of the Learned 
Brothers on his breast, advanced to 
meet the armed intruders. 

“So he is gone, Kradzy Zago?” 
Zarvas Pol said, bolstering his weap- 
on. “Gone in the ‘time-machine’, to 
hide in yesterday or tomorrow. And 
you let him go?” 

The old one nodded. “He had a 
blaster, and I had none,” He indi- 
cated the body on the floor. “Zoldy 
Jarv had no blaster, either, but he 
tried to stop Hradzka. See, he 
squandered his life as a fool squan- 
ders his money, getting nothing for 
it. And a man’s life is not money, 
Zarvas Pol.” 

“I do not blame you, Kradzy 
Zago,” General Zarvas said. “But 
now you must get to work, and 
build us another ‘time-machine’, so 
that we can hunt him down.” 

“Does revenge mean so much to 
you, then?” 

The soldier made an impatient ges- 
ture. “Revenge is for fools, like that 
pack of screaming beasts below. I 
do not kill for revenge; I kill be- 
cause dead men do no harm.” 

“Hradzka will do us no more 
harm,” the old scientist replied, “He 
is a thing of yesterday; of a time 
long past and half-lost in the mists 
of legend.” 



FLIGHT FROM TOMORROW 



39 



“No matter. As long as he exists, 
at any point in spacetime, Hradzka is 
still a threat. Revenge means much 
-to Hradzka; he will return for it, 
when we least expect him.” 

The old man shook his head. “No, 
Zarvas Pol. Hradzka will not return,” 
* * * 

M RADZKA bolstered his blaster, 
threw the switch that sealed 
the “time-machine”, put on the an- 
tigrav-unit and started the time-shift 
unit. He reached out and set the 
destination-dial for the mid-Fifty- 
Second Century of the Atomic Era. 
That would land him in the Ninth 
Age of Chaos, following the Two- 
Century War and the collapse of the 
World Theocracy. A good time for 
his purpose; the world would be 
slipping back into barbarism, and yet 
posess the technologies of former 
civilizations. A hundred little na- 
tional states would be trying to re- 
gain social stability, competing and 
warring with one another. Hradzka 
glanced back over his shoulder at 
the cases of books, record-spools, 
tri-dimensional pictures, and scale- 
models. These people of the past 
would welcome him and his science 
of the future, would make him their 
leader. 

He would start in a small way, by 
taking over the local feudal or tribal 
government, would arm his followers 
with weapons of the future. Then he 
would impose his rule upon neigh- 
boring tribes, or princedoms, or com- 
munes, or whatever, and build a 
strong sovereignty ; from that he 
envisioned a world empire, a Solar 
System empire. 

Then, he would build “time-ma- 
chines”, many “time-machines”. He 
would recruit an army such as the 
universe had never seen, a swarm of 
men from every age in the past. At 
that point, he would return to the 
Hundredth Century of the Atomic 
Era, to wreak vengance upon those 
who had risen against him. A slow 
smile grew on Hradzka’s thin lips as 
he thought of the tortures with 
which he would put Zarvas Pol to 
death. 

He glanced up at the great disc 



of the indicator and frowned. Al- 
ready he was back to the year 7500, 
A.E. , and the temporal-displacement 
had not begun to slow. The disc was 
turning even more rapidly — 7000, 
6000, 5500; he gasped slightly. Then 
he had passed his destination; he 
was now in the Fortieth Century, but 
the indicator was slowing. The hair- 
line crossed the Thirtieth Century, 
the Twentieth, the Fifteenth, the 
Tenth. He wondered what had gone 
wrong, but he had recovered from his 
fright by this time. When this insane 
machine stopped, as it must around 
the First Century of the Atomic 
Era, he would investigate, make re- 
pairs, then shift forward to his tar- 
get-point. Hradzka was determined 
upon the Fifty-Second Century; he 
had made a special study of the 
history of that period, had learned 
the language spoken then, and he un- 
derstood the methods necessary to 
gain power over the natives of that 
time. 

The indicator-disc came to a stop, 
in the First Century. He switched 
on the magnifier and leaned forward 
to look; he had emerged into normal 
time in the year 10 of the Atomic 
Era, a decade after the first urani- 
um-pile had gone into operation, and 
seven years after the first atomic 
bombs had been exploded in warfare. 
The alitmeter showed that he was 
hovering at eight thousand feet 
above ground-level. 

Slowly, he cut out the antigrav, 
letting the “time machine” down eas- 
ily. He knew that there had been 
no danger of materializing inside 
anything; the New Tower had been 
built to put it above anything that 
had occupied that space-point at any 
moment within history, or legend, 
or even the geological knowledge of 
man. What lay below, however, was 
uncertain. It was night — the visi- 
screen showed only a star-dusted, 
moonless-sky, and dark shadows be- 
low. He snapped another switch; for 
a few micro-seconds a beam of in- 
tense light was turned on, automati- 
cally photographing the landscape 
under him. A second later, the de- 
veloped picture was projected upon 
another screen; it showed only wood- 



40 



FUTURE combined with SCMEXCE PiCTtON STORIES 



ed mountains and a barren, brush- 
grown valley. 

HE “TIME-MACHINE" came to 
rest with a soft jar and a crash- 
ing of broken bushes that was audi- 
ble through the sound pickup. 
Hradzka pulled the main switch; 
there was a click as the shielding 
went out and the door opened. A 
breath of cool night air drew into 
the hollow sphere. 

Then there was a loud bang inside 
the mechanism, and a flash of blue- 
white light which turned to pinkish 
flame with a nasty crackling. Curls 
of smoke began to rise from the 
square black box that housed the 
“time-shift” mechanism, and from 
behind the instrument-board. In a 
moment, everything was glowing-hot; 
driblets of aluminum and silver were 
running down from the instruments. 
Then the wh6le interior of the “time- 
machine" was afire; there was barely 
time for Hradzka to leap through 
the open door. 

The brush outside impeded him, 
and he used his blaster to clear a 
path for himself away from the big 
sphere, which was now glowing faint- 
ly on the outside. The heat grew in 
intensity, and the brush outside was 
taking fire. It was not until he had 
gotten two hundred yards from the 
machine that he stopped, realizing 
what had happened. 

The machine, of course, had been 
sabotaged. That would have been 
young Zoldy, whom he had killed, or 
that old billy-goat, Kradzy Zago ; the 
latter, most likely. He cursed both of 
them for having marooned him in 
this savage age, at the very begin- 
ning of atomic civilization, with all 
his printed and recorded knowledge 
destroyed. Oh, he could still gain 
mastery over these barbarians; he 
knew enough to fashion a crude 
blaster, or a heat-beam gun, or an 
atomic-electric conversion unit. But 
without his books and records, he 
could never build an antigrav unit, 
and the secret of the “temporal shift” 
was lost. 

For “Time” is not an object, or a 
medium which can be travelled along. 
The “Time-Machine" was not a ve- 



hicle; it was a mechanical process 
of displacement within the space- 
time continuum, and those who con- 
structed it knew that it could not be 
used with the sort of accuracy that 
the dials indicated. Hradzka had or- 
dered his scientists to produce a 
“Time Machine”, and they had com- 
bined the p o s s i b 1 e — displacement 
within the space-time continuum — 
with the sort of fiction the dictator 
demanded, for their own well-being. 
Even had there been no sabotage, 
his return to his own “time” was 
nearly of zero probability. 

The fire, spreading from the “time- 
machine”, was blowing toward him; 
he observed the wind-direction and 
hurried around out of the path of 
the flames. The light enabled him 
to pick his way through the brush, 
and, after crossing a small stream, he 
found a rutted road and followed it 
up the mountainside until he caune 
to a place where he could rest con- 
cealed until morning. 

2 

I T WAS BROAD daylight when 
he woke, and there was a strange 
throbbing sound ; Hradzka lay 
motionless under the brush where he 
had slept, his blaster ready. In a 
few minutes, a vehicle came into 
sight, following the road down the 
mountainside. 

It was a large thing, four-wheeled, 
with a projection in front which 
probably housed the engine and a 
cab for the operator. The body of 
the vehicle was simply an open rec- 
tangular box. There were two men in 
the cab, and about twenty or thirty 
more crowded into the box-body. 
These were dressed in faded and 
nondescript garments of blue and 
gray and brown; all were armed with 
crude weapons — axes, bill-hooks, 
long-handled instruments with serrat- 
ed edges, and what looked like broad- 
bladed spears. The vehicle itself, 
which seemed to be propelled by 
some sort of chemical-explosion en- 
gine, was dingy and mud-splattered; 
the men in it were ragged and un- 
shaven. Hradzka snorted in con- 
tempt; they were probably warriors 




FLIGHT FROM TOMORROW 



41 



of the local tribe, going to the fire 
in the belief that it had been start- 
ed by raiding enemies. When they 
found the wreckage of the “time- 
machine”, they would no doubt be- 
lieve that it was the chariot of some 
god, and drag it home to be venerat- 
ed. 

A plan of action was taking shape 
in his mind. First, he must get 
clothing of the sort worn by these 
people, and find a safe hiding-place 
for his own things. Then, pretending 
to be a deaf-mute, he would go 
among them to learn something of 
their customs and pick up the lan- 
guage. When he had done that, he 
would move on to another tribe or 
village, able to tell a credible story 
for himself. For a while, it would 
be necessary for him to do menial 
work, but in the end, he would es- 
tablish himself among these people. 
Then he could gather around him a 
faction of those who were dissatisfied 
with whatever conditions existed, or- 
ganize a conspiracy, make arms for 
his followers, and start his program 
of power-seizure. 

The matter of clothing was attend- 
ed to shortly after he had crossed 
the mountain and descended into the 
valley on the other side. Hearing a 
clinking sound some distance from 
the road, as of metal striking stone, 
Hradzka stole cautiously through the 
woods until he came within sight of 
a man who was digging with a mat- 
tock, uprooting small bushes of a 
particular sort, with rough gray bark 
and three-pointed leaves. When he 
had dug one up, he would cut off the 
roots and then slice away the root- 
bark with a knife, putting it into a 
sack. Hradzka’s lip curled contemp- 
tftously; the fellow was gathering 
the stuff for medicinal use. He had 
heard of the use of roots and herbs 
for such purposes by the ancient 
savages. 

The blaster would be no use here; 
it was too powerful, and would de- 
stroy the clothing that the man was 
wearing. He unfastened a strap 
from his belt and attached it to a 
stone to form a hand-loop, then, 
inched forward behind the lone herb- 
gatherer. When he was close enough. 



he straightened and rushed forward, 
swinging his improvised weapon. The 
man heard him and turned, too late. 

A FTER UNDRESSING his vic- 
JLm, tim, Hradzka used the mattock 
to finish him, and then to dig a 
grave. The fugitive buried his own 
clothes with the murdered man, and 
donned the faded blue shirt, rough 
shoes, worn trousers and jacket. The 
blaster he concealed under the jack- 
et, and he kept a few other Hun- 
dredth Century gadgets; these he 
would hide somewhere closer to his 
center of operations. 

He had kept, among other things, 
a small box of food-concentrate cap- 
sules, and in one pocket of the new- 
ly acquired jacket he found a pack- 
age containing food. It was rough 
and unappetizing fare — slices of cold 
cooked meat between slices of some 
cereal substance. He ate these be- 
fore filling in the grave, and put the 
paper wrappings in with the dead 
man. Then, his work finished, he 
threw tire mattock into the brush and 
set out again, grimacing disgustedly 
and scratching himself. The clothing 
he had appropriated was verminous* 

Crossing another mountain, he de- 
scended into a second valley, and, 
for a time, lost his way among a tan- 
gle of narrow ravines. It was dark 
by the time he mounted a hill and 
found himself looking down another 
valley, in which a few scattered 
lights gave evidence of human habi- 
tations. Not wishing to arouse sus- 
picion by approaching these in the 
night-time, he found a place among 
some young evergreens where he 
could sleep. 

The next morning, having break- 
fasted on a concentrate capsule, he 
found a hiding-place for his blaster 
in a hollow tree. It was in a suffi- 
ciently prominent position so that 
he could easily find it again, and 
at the same time unlikely to be 
discovered by some native. Then he 
went down into the inhabited valley. 

He was surprised at the ease with 
which he established contact with 
the natives. The first dwelling which 
he approached, a cluster of farm- 
buildings at the upper end of the val- 



42 



PVTtJHE combined with SCiEXCE FtCFiON STORiES 



ley, gave him shelter. There was a 
man, clad in the same sort of rough 
garments Hradzka had taken from 
the body of the herb-gatherer, and 
a woman in a faded and shapeless 
dress. The man was thin and work- 
bent ; the woman short and heavy. 
Both were past middle age. 

He made inarticulate sounds to 
attract their attention, then gestured 
to his mouth and ears to indicate his 
assumed affliction. He rubbed his 
stomach to portray hunger. Looking 
about, he saw an ax sticking in a 
chopping-block, and a pile of wood 
near it, probably the fuel used by 
these people. He took the ax, split 
up some of the wood, then repeated 
the hunger-signs. The man and the 
woman both nodded, laughing; he 
was shown a pile of tree-limbs, and 
the man picked up a short billet of 
wood and used it like a measuring- 
rule, to indicate that all the wood 
was to be cut to that length. 

Hradzka fell to work, and by mid- 
morning, he had all the wood cut. He 
had seen a circular stone, mounted 
on a trestle with a metal axle 
through it, and judged it to be some 
sort of a grinding-wheel, since it was 
fitted with a foot-pedal and a rusty 
metal can was set above it to spill 
water onto the grinding-edge. After 
chopping the wood, he carefully 
sharpened the ax, handing it to the 
man for inspection. This seemed to 
please the man; he clapped Hradzka 
on the shoulder, making commenda- 
tory sounds. 

I T REQUIRED considerable time 
and ingenuity to make himself a 
more or less permanent member of 
the household. Hradzka had made a 
survey of the farmyard, noting the 
sorts of work that would normally 
be performed on the farm, and he 
pantomimed this work in its simpler 
operations. He pointed to the east, 
where the sun would rise, and to the 
zenith, and to the west. He made 
signs indicative of eating, and of 
sleeping, and of rising, and of work- 
ing. At length, he succeeded in con- 
veying his meaning. 

There was considerable argument 
between the man and the woman, but 



his proposal was accepted, as he ex- 
pected that it would. It was easy to 
see that the work of the farm was 
hard for this aging couple; now, for 
a place to sleep and a little food, 
they were able to acquire a strong 
and intelligent slave. 

In the days that followed, he made 
himself useful to the farm people; 
he fed the chickens and the livestock, 
milked the cow, worked in the fields. 
He slept in a small room at the top 
of the house, under the eaves, and 
ate with the man and woman in the 
farmhouse kitchen. 

It was not long before he picked 
up a few words which he had heard 
his employers using, and related 
them to the things or acts spoken 
of. And he began to notice that 
these people, in spite of the crudi- 
ties of their own life, enjoyed some 
of the advantages of a fairly com- 
plex civilization. Their implements 
were not hand-craft products, but 
showed machine workmanship. There 
were two objects hanging on hooks 
on the kitchen wall which he was 
sure were weapons. Both had wooden 
shoulder-stocks, and wooden fore- 
pieces; they had long tubes extend- 
ing to the front, and triggers like 
blasters. One had double tubes 
mounted side-by-side, and double 
triggers; the other had an octagonal 
tube mounted over a round tube, 
and a loop extension on the trigger- 
guard. Then, there was a box on the 
kitchen wall, with a mouthpiece and 
a cylindrical tube on a cord. Some- 
times a bell would ring out of the 
box, and the woman would go to 
this instrument, take down the tube 
and hold it to her ear, and talk into 
the mouthpiece. There was another 
box from which voices would issde, 
of people conversing, or of orators, 
or of singing, and sometimes in- 
strumental music. None of these 
were objects made by savages; these 
people probably traded with some 
fairly high civilization. They were 
not illiterate; he found printed mat- 
ter, indicating the use of some pho- 
netic alphabet, and paper pamphlets 
containing printed reproductions of 
photographs as well as verbal text. 

There was also a vehicle on the 



FLIGHT FROM TOMORROW 



43 



farm, powered, like the one he had 
seen on the road, by an engine in 
which a hydrocarbon liquid-fuel was 
exploded. He made it his business to 
examine this minutely, and to study 
its construction and operation until 
he was thoroughly familiar with it. 

It was not until the third day 
after his arrival that the chickens 
began to die. In the morning, 
Hradzka found three of them dead 
when he went to feed them, the rest 
drooping unhealthily; he summoned 
the man and showed him what he had 
found. The next morning, they were 
all dead, and the cow was sick. She 
gave bloody milk, that evening, and 
the next morning she lay in her 
stall and would not get up. 

The man and the woman were also 
beginning to sicken, though both of 
them tried to continue their work. 
It was the woman who first noticed 
that the plants around the farmhouse 
were withering and turning yellow. 

T he farmer went to the stable 
w'th Hradzka and looked at the 
cow. Shaking his head, he limped 
back to the house, and returned car- 
rying one of the weapons from the 
kitchen — the one with the single 
trigger and the octagonal tube. As 
he entered the stable, he jerked down 
and up on the loop extension of the 
trigger-guard, then put the weapon 
to his shoulder and pointed it at 
the cow. It made a flash, and roared 
louder even than a hand-blaster, and 
the cow jerked convulsively and was 
dead. The man then indicated by 
signs that Hrakzka was to drag the 
dead cow out of the stable, dig a 
hole, and bury it. This Hradzka did, 
carefully examining the wound in the 
cow’s head — the weapon, he decided, 
was not an energy-weapon, but a 
simple solid-missile projector. 

By evening, neither the man nor 
the woman were able to eat, and 
both seemed to be suffering intense- 
ly. The man used the communicat- 
ing-instrument on the wall, probably 
calling on his friends for help. 
Hradzka did what he could to make 
them comfortable, cooked his own 
meal, washed the dishes as he had 
seen the woman doing, and tidied up 
the kitchen. 



It was not long before people, 
men and women whom he had seen 
on the road or who had stopped at 
the farmhouse while he had been 
there, began arriving, some carrying 
baskets of food; and shortly after 
Hradzka had eaten, a vehicle like 
the farmer’s, but in better condition 
and of better quality, arrived and a 
young man got out of it and entered 
the house, carrying a leather bag. 
He was apparently some sort of a 
scientist; he examined the man and 
his wife, asked many questions, and 
administered drugs. He also took 
samples for blood-tests and urinaly- 
sis. This, Hradzka considered, was 
another of the many contradictions 
he had encountered among these 
people — this man behaved like an 
educated scientist, and seemingly 
had nothing in common with the 
peasant herb-gatherer on the moun- 
tainside. 

The fact was that Hradzka was 
worried. The strange death of the 
animals, the blight which had 
smitten the trees and vegetables 
around the farm, and the sickness 
of the farmer and his woman, all 
mystified him. He did not know of 
any disease which would affect 
plants and animals and humans; he 
wondered if scmie poisonous gas 
might not be escaping from the 
earth near the farmhouse. However, 
he had not, himself, been affected. 
He also disliked the way in which 
the doctor and the neighbors seemed 
to be talking about him. While he 
had come to a considerable revision 
of his original opinion about the 
culture-level of these people, it was 
not impossible that they might sus- 
pect him of having caused the whole 
thing by witchcraft; at any moment, 
they might fall upon him and put 
him to death. In any case, there was 
no longer any use in his staying 
here, and it might be wise if he left 
at once. 

Accordingly, he filled his pockets 
with food from the pantry and 
slipped out of the farmhouse; 
before his absence was discovered 
he was well on his way down the 
road. 



44 



FUTURE combined wi+h SCiENCE FICTiON STORMES 



3 

T hat night, Hradzka slept 

under a bridge across a fairly 
wide stream ; the next morning, 
he followed the road until he came 
to a town. It was not a large place; 
there were perhaps four or five 
hundred houses and other buildings 
in it. Most of these were dwellings 
like the farmhouse where he had 
been staying, but some were much 
larger, and seemed to be places of 
business. One of these latter was a 
concrete structure with wide doors 
at the front; inside, he could see 
men working on the internal-com- 
bustion vehicles which seemed to be 
in almost universal use. Hradzka 
decided to obtain employment here. 

It would be best, he decided, to 
continue his pretense of being a 
deaf-mute. He did not know whether 
a world-language were in use at this 
time or not, and even if not, the 
pretense of being a foreigner unable 
to speak the local dialect might be 
dangerous. So he entered the vehicle- 
repair shop and accosted a man in a 
clean shirt who seemed to be issuing 
instructions to the workers, going 
into his pantomime of the homeless 
mute seeking employment. 

The master of the repair-shop 
merely laughed at him, however. 
Hradzka became more insistent in 
his manner, making signs to indicate 
his hunger and willingness to work. 
The other men in the shop left their 
tasks and gathered around; there 
was much laughter and unmistakably 
ribald and derogatory remarks. 
Hradzka was beginning to give up 
hope of getting employment here 
when one of the workmen approached 
the master and whispered some- 
thing to him. 

The two of them walked away, 
conversing in low voices. Hradzka 
thought he understood the situation ; 
no doubt the workman, thinking to 
lighten his own labor, was urging 
that the vagrant be employed, for no 
other pay than food and lodging. 
At length, the master assented to his 
employee’s urgings ; he returned, 
showed Hradzka a hose and a bucket 



and sponges and cloths, and set him 
to work cleaning the mud from one 
of the vehicles. Then, after seeing 
that the work was being done 
properly, he went away, entering a 
room at one side of the shop. 

About twenty minutes later, 
another man entered the shop. He 
was not dressed like any of the other 
people whom Hradzka had seen; he 
wore a gray tunic and breeches, 
polished black boots, and a cap with 
a visor and a metal insigna on it; 
on a belt, he carried a bolstered 
weapon like a blaster. 

After speaking to one of the 
workers, who pointed Hradzka out 
to him, he approached the fugitive 
and said something. Hradzka made 
gestures at his mouth and ears and 
made gargling sounds; the newcomer 
shrugged and motioned him to come 
with him, at the same time producing 
a pair of handcuffs from his belt 
and jingling them suggestively. 

In a few seconds, Hradzka tried 
to analyze the situation and estimate 
its possibilities. The newcomer was 
a soldier, or, more likely, a police- 
man, since manacles were a part of 
his equipment. Evidently, since the 
evening before, a warning had been 
made public by means of communi- 
cating devices such as he had seen 
at the farm, advising people that a 
man of his description, pretending 
to be a deaf-mute, should be detained 
and the police notified; it had been 
for that reason that the workman had 
persuaded his master to employ 
Hradzka. No doubt he would be 
accused of causing the conditions 
at the farm by sorcery. 

H radzka shrugged and nodded, 
then went to the water-tap to 
turn off the hose he had been using. 
He disconnected it, coiled it and 
hung it up, and then picked up the 
water-bucket. Then, without warning, 
he hurled the water into the police- 
man’s face, sprang forward, swinging 
the bucket by the bale, and hit the 
man on the head. Releasing his grip 
on the bucket, he tore the blaster or 
whatever it was from the holster. 

One of the workers swung a 
hammer, as though to throw it. 



FLIGHT FROM TOMORROW 



45 



Hradzka aimed the weapon at him 
and pulled the trigger ; the thing 
belched fire and kicked back pain- 
fully in his hand, and the man fell. 
He used it again to drop the police- 
man, then thrust it into the waist- 
band of his trousers and ran outside. 
The thing was not a blaster at all, 
he realized — only a missile-projector 
like the big weapons at the farm, 
utilizing the force of some chemical 
explosive. 

The policeman’s vehicle was 
standing outside. It was a small, 
single-seat, two wheeled affair. 
Having become familiar with the 
principles of these hydro-carbon 
engines from examination of the' 
vehicle of the farm, and accustomed 
as he was to far more complex 
mechanisms than this crude affair, 
Hradzka could see at a glance how 
to operate it. Springing onto the 
saddle, he kicked away the folding 
support and started the engine. Just 
as he did, the master of the repair- 
shop ran outside, one of the small 
hand-weapons in his hand, and fired 
several shots. They all missed, but 
Hradzka heard the whining sound 
of the missiles passing uncomfort- 
ably close to him. 

It was imperative that he recover 
the blaster he had hidden in the 
hollow tree at the head of the valley. 
By this time, there would be a con- 
certed search under way for him, 
and he needed a better weapon than 
the solid-missile projector he had 
taken from the policeman. He did 
not know how many shots the thing 
contained, but if it propelled solid 
missiles by chemical explosion, there 
could not have been more than five 
or six such charges in the cylindri- 
cal part of the weapon which he had 
assumed to be the charge-holder. On 
the other hand, his blaster, a weapon 
of much greater power, contained 
enough energy for five hundred 
blasts, and with it were eight extra 
energy-capsules, giving him a total 
of four thousand five hundred 
blasts. 

Handling the two-wheeled vehicle 
was no particular problem; although 
he had never ridden on anything of 
the sort before, it was child’s play 



compared to controlling a Hundredth 
Century strato-rocket, and Hradzka 
was a skilled rocket-pilot. 

Several times he passed vehicles 
on the road — the passenger vehicles 
with enclosed cabins, and cargo- 
vehicles piled high with farm pro- 
duce. Once he encountered a large 
number of children, gathered in front 
of a big red building with a flag- 
staff in front, from which a queer 
flag, with horizontal red and white 
stripes and a white-spotted blue 
device in the corner, flew. They 
scattered off the road in terror at 
his approach; fortunately, he hit 
none of them, for at the speed at 
which he was traveling, such a 
collision would have wrecked his 
light vehicle. 

A S HE approached the farm 
where he had spent the past 
few days, he saw two passenger-ve- 
hicles standing by the road. One was 
a black one, similar to the one in 
which the physician had come to the 
farm, and the other was white 
with black trimmings and bore the 
same device he had seen on the cap 
of the policeman. A policeman was 
sitting in the driver’s seat of this 
vehicle, and another policeman was 
standing beside it, breathing smoke 
with one of the white paper cyl- 
inders these people used. In the 
farm-yard, two men were going about 
with a square black box ; to this box, 
a tube was connected by a wire, and 
they were passing the tube about 
over the ground. 

The policeman who was standing 
beside the vehicle saw him approach, 
and blev/ his whistle, then drew the 
weapon from his belt. Hradzka, who 
had been expecting some attempt to 
halt him, had let go the right-hand 
steering handle and drawn his own 
weapon; as the policeman drew, he 
fired at him. Without observing the 
effect of the shot, he sped on; be- 
fore he had rounded the bend above 
the farm, several shots were fired 
after him. 

A mile beyond, he came to the 
place where he had hidden the 
blaster. He stopped the vehicle and 
jumped off, plunging into the brush 



46 



FtlTVRE combined with SCiENCE FICTMOX STORIED 



and racing toward the hollow tree. 
Just as he reached it, he heard a 
vehicle approach and stop, and the 
door of the police vehicle slam. 
Hradzka’s fingers found the belt of 
his blaster; he dragged it out and 
buckled it on. tossing away the 
missile weapon he had been carrying. 

Then, crouching behind the tree, 
he waited. A few moments later, he 
caught a movement in the brush 
toward the road. He brought up the 
blaster, aimed and squeezed the 
trigger. There was a faint bluish 
glow at the muzzle, and a blast of 
energy tore through the brush, 
smashing the molecular structure of 
everything that stood in the way. 
There was an involuntary shout of 
alarm from the direction of the road; 
at least one of the policemen had 
escaped the blast. Hradzka bol- 
stered his weapon and crept away for 
some distance, keeping under cover, 
then turned and waited for some 
sign of the presence of his enemies. 
For some time nothing happened; he 
decided to turn hunter against the 
men who were hunting him. He 
started back in thes direction of the 
road, making a wide circle, flitting 
silently from rock to bush and from 
bush to tree, stopping often to look 
and listen. 

This finally brought him upon one 
of the policemen, and almost ter- 
minated his flight at the same time. 
He must have grown over-confident 
and careless ; suddenly a weapon 
roared, and a missile smashed 
through the brush inches from his 
face. The shot had come from his 
left and a little to the rear. Whirl- 
,ing, he blasted four times, in rapid 
succession, then turned and fled for 
a few yards, dropping and crawling 
behind a rock. When he looked back, 
he could see wisps of smoke rising 
from the shattered trees and bushes 
which had absorbed the energy-out- 
put of his weapon, and he caught 
a faint odor of burned flesh. One 
of his pursuers, at least, would pur- 
sue him no longer. 

He slipped away, down into the 
tangle of ravines and hollows in 
which he had wandered the day be- 
fore his arrival at the farm. For the 



time being, he felt safe, and finally 
confident that he was not being 
pursued, he stopped to rest. The 
place where he stopped seemed 
familiar, and he looked about. In a 
moment, he recognized the little 
stream, the pool where he had bathed 
his feet, the clump of seedling pines 
under which he had slept. He even 
found the silver-foil wrapping from 
the food concentrate capsule. 

But there had been a change, since 
the night when he had slept here. 
Then the young pines had been 
green and alive; now they were 
blighted, and their needles had 
turned brown. Hradzka stood for a 
long time, looking at them. It was 
the same blight that had touched 
the plants around the farmhouse. 
And here, among the pine needles on 
the ground, lay a dead bird. 

It took some time for him to ad- 
mit, to himself, the implications of 
vegetation, the chickens, the cow, 
the farmer and his wife, had all 
sickened and died. He had been in 
this place, and now, when he had 
returned, he found that death had 
followed him here, too. 

URING THE early centuries of 
the Atomic Era, he knew, there 
had been great wars, the stories of 
which had survived even to the 
Hundredth Century. Among the 
weapons that had been used, there 
had been artificial plagues and epi- 
demics, caused by new types of bac- 
teria developed in laboratories, 
against which the victims had 
posessed no protection. Those germs 
and viruses had persisted for 
centuries, and gradually had lost 
their power to harm mankind. Sup- 
pose, now, that he had brought some 
of them back with him, to a century 
before they had been developed. 
Suppose, that was, that he were a 
human plague-carrier. He thought of 
the vermin that had infested the 
clothing he had taken from the 
man he had killed on the other side 
of the mountain ; they had not troub- 
led him after the first day. 

There was a throbbing mechanical 
sound somewhere in the air; 




FLIGHT FROM TOMORROW 



47 



looked about, and finally identified 
its source. A small aircraft had come 
over the valley from the other side 
of the mountain and was circling 
lazily overhead. He froze, shrinking 
back under a pine-tree; as long as 
he remained motionless, he would 
not be seen, and soon the thing 
would go awav. He was beginning to 
understand why the search for him 
was being pressed so relentlessly; as 
long as he remained alive, he was 
a menace to everybody in this First 
Century wory. 

He got out his supply of food con- 
centrates, saw that he had only three 
capsules left, and put them away 
again. For a long time, he sat under 
the dying tree, chewing on a twig 
and thinking. There must be some 
way in which he could overcome, or 
even utilize, his inherent deadliness 
to these people. He might find some 
isolated community, conceal himself 
near it, invade it at night and in- 
fect it, and then, when everybody 
was dead, move in and take it for 
himself. But was there any such iso- 
lated community? The farmhouse 
where he had worked had been fair- 
ly remote, yet its inhabitants had 
been in communication with the 
outside world, and the physician had 
come immediately in response to 
their call for help. 

The little aircraft had been cir- 
cling overhead, directly above the 
place where he lay hidden. For a 
while, Hradzka was afraid it had 
spotted him, and was debating the 
advisability of using his blaster on 
it. Then it banked, turned and went 
away. He watched it circle over the 
valley on the other side of the moun- 
tain, and got to his feet. 

4 

LMOST AT once, there was 
a new sound — a multiple throb- 
bing, at a quick, snarling 
tempo that hinted at enormous 
power, growing louder each second. 
Hradzka stiffened and drew his 
blaster; as he did, five more aircraft 
swooped over the crest of the moun- 
tain and came rushing down toward 



him ; not aimlessly, but as though 
they knew exactly where he was. As 
they approached, the leading edges 
of their wings sparkled with light, 
branches began flying from the trees 
about him, and there was a loud 
hammering noise. 

He aimed a little in front of them 
and began blasting. A wing flew 
from one of the aircraft, and it 
plunged downward. Another came 
apart in the air; a third burst into 
flames. The other two zoomed up- 
ward quickly. Hradzka swung his 
blaster after them, blasting again and 
again. He hit a fourth with a blast 
of energy, knocking it to pieces, and 
then the hfth was out of range. He 
blasted at it twice, but without ef- 
fect; a hand-blaster was only good 
for a thousand yards at the most. 

Holstering his weapon, he hurried 
away, following the stream and keep- 
ing under cover of trees. The last of 
the attacking aircraft had gone away, 
but the little scout-plane was still 
circling about, well out of blaster- 
range. 

Once or twice, Hradzka was com- 
pelled to stay hidden for some time, 
not knowing the nature of the pilot’s 
ability to detect him. It was during 
one of these waits that the next 
phase of the attack developed. 

It began, like the last one, with a 
distant roar that swelled in volume 
until it seemed to fill the whole 
world. Then, fifteen or twenty 
thousand feet out of blaster-range, 
the new attackers swept into sight. 

There must have been fifty of 
them, huge tapering things with 
wide-spread wings, flying in close 
formation, wave after V-shaped 
v^ave. He stood and stared at them, 
amazed ; he had never imagined that 
such aircraft existed in the First 
Century. Then a high-pitched scream- 
ing sound cut through the roar of 
the propellers, and for an instand he 
saw countless small specks in the 
sky, falling downward. 

The first bomb-salvo landed in the 
young pines, where he had fought 
against the first air attack. Great 
gouts of flame shot upward, and 
smoke, and flying earth and debris. 




48 



FUTURE combined with SCiESCE FtCTiON STORtES 



Hradzka turned and started to run. 
Another salvo fell in front of him; 
he veered to the left and plunged on 
through the undergrowth. Now the 
bombs were falling all about him, 
deafening him with their thunder, 
shaking him with concussion. He 
dodged, frightened, as the trunk of 
a tree came crashing down beside 
him. Then something hit him across 
the back, knocking him flat. For a 
moment, he lay stunned, then tried 
to rise. As he did, a searing light 
filled his eyes and a wave of intoler- 
able heat swept over him. Then 
darkness . . . 

♦ * * 

ZARVAS POL,” Kradzy 
Zago repeated, “Hradzka 
will not return; the ‘time-machine’ 
was sabotaged.” 

“So? Bv you?” the soldier asked. 

The scientist nodded. “I knew the 
purpose for which he intended it. 
Hradzka was not content with hav- 
ing enslaved a whole Solar System; 
he hungered to bring tyranny and 
serfdom to all the past and all the 
future as well ; he wanted to be 
master not only of the present but 
of the centuries that were and were 
to be, as well. I never took part in 
politics, Zarvas Pol ; I had no hand 
in this revolt. But I could not be 
party to such a crime as Hradzka 
contemplated when it lay within my 
power to prevent it.” 

“The machine will take him out of 
our space-time continuum, or back 
to a time when this planet was a 
swirling cloud of flaming gas?” 
Zarvas Pol asked. 

Kradzy Zago shook his head. “No, 
the unit is not powerful enough for 
that. It will only take him about 
ten thousand years into the past. 
But then, when it stops, the machine 
will destroy itself. It may destroy 
Hradzka with it. or he may escape. 
But if he does, he will be left 
stranded ten thousand years ago, 
when he can do us no harm. 

“Actually, it did not operate as 
he imagined and there is an infi- 
nitely small chance that he could 
have returned to our ‘time’, in any 
event. But I wanted to insure against 
even so small a chance.” 



“We can’t be sure of that,” Zarvas 
Pol objected. “He may know more 
about the machine than you think ; 
enough more to build another like 
it. So you must build me a machine, 
and I’ll take back a party of volun- 
teers and hunt him down.” 

“That would not be necessary, and 
you would only share his fate.” 
Then, apparently changing the sub- 
ject, Kradzy Zago asked: “Tell me, 
Zarvas Pol; have you never heard 
the legends of the Deadly Radia- 
tions?” 

General Zarvas smiled. “Who has 
not? Every cadet at the Officers’ 
College dreams of re-discovering 
them, to use as a weapon, but nobody 
ever has. We hear these tales of 
how, in the early days, atomic en- 
gines and piles and fission-bombs 
emitted particles which were utterly 
deadly, which would make anything 
with which they came in contact 
deadly, which would bring a horrible 
death to any human being. But these 
are only myths. All the ancient ex- 
periments have been duplicated time 
and again, and the deadly-radiation 
effect has never been observed. Some 
say that it is a mere old-wives’ 
terror-tale; some say that the deaths 
were caused by fear of atomic 
energy, when it was still unfamiliar; 
others contend that the fundamental 
nature of atomic energy has altered 
by the degeneration of the fission- 
able matter. For my own part, I’m 
hot enough of a scientist to have an 
opinion.” 

T he old one smiled wanly. 

“None of these theories are 
correct. In the beginning of the 
Atomic Era, the Deadly Radiations 
existed. They still exist, but they 
are no longer deadly, because all life 
on this planet has adapted itself to 
such radiations, and all living things 
are now immune to them.” 

“And Hradzka has returned to a 
time when such immunity did not 
exist? But would that not be to his 
advantage?” 

“Remember, General, that man has 
been using atomic energy for ten 
thousand years. Our whole world has 



FLIGHT FROM TOMORROW 



49 



become drenched with radioactivity. 
The planet, the seas, the atmosphere, 
and every living thing, are all radio- 
active, now. Radioactivity is as 
natural to us as the air we breathe. 
Now, you remember hearing of the 
great wars of the first centuries of 
the Atomic Era, in which whole 
nations were wiped out, leaving only 
hundreds of survivors out of mil- 
lions. You, no doubt, think that such 
tales are products of ignorant and 
barbaric imagination, but I assure 
you, they are literally true. It was 
not the blast-effect of a few bombs 
which created such holocausts, but 
the radiations released by the bombs. 
And those who survived to carry on 
the race were men and women whose 
systems resisted the radiations, and 
they transmitted to their progeny 
that power of resistance. In many 
cases, their children were mutants — 
not monsters, although there were 
many of them, too, which did not 
survive — but humans who were 
immune to radioactivity.” 

“A.n interesting theory, Kradzy 
Zago,” the soldier commented. “And 
one which conforms both to what we 
know of atomic energy and to the 
ancient legends. Then you would say 
that those radiations are still deadly 
— to the non-immune?” 

“Exactly. And Hradzka, his body 
emitting those radiations, has re- 
turned to the First Century of the 
Atomic Era — to a world without im- 
munity.” 

General Zarvas’ smile vanished. 
“Man!” he cried in horror. “You 
have loosed a carrier of death among 
those innocent people of the past!” 
Kradzy Zago nodded. “That is 
true. I estimate that Hradzka will 
probably cause the death of a hun- 
dred or so people, before he is dealt 
with. But dealt with he will be. Tell 
me. General; if a man should appear 
now, out of nowhere, spreading a 
strange and horrible plague wherever 
he went, what would you do?” 

“Why, I’d hunt him down and kill 
him,” General Zarvas replied. “Not 
for anything he did, but for the 
meance he was. And then, I’d cover 



his body with a mass of concrete 
bigger than this palace.” 

’’Precisely.” Kradzy Zago smiled. 
“And the military commanders and 
political leaders of the First Century 
were no less ruthless or efficient 
than you. You know how atomic en- 
ergy was first used? There was an 
ancient nation, upon the ruins of 
whose cities we have built our own, 
which was famed for its idealistic 
humanitarianism. Yet that nation, 
treacherously attacked, created the 
first atomic bombs in self defense, 
and used them. It is among the peo- 
ple of that nation that Hradzka has 
emerged.” 

“But would they recognize him as 
the cause of the calamity he brings 
among them?” 

"Of course. He will emerge at the 
time when atomic energy is first 
being used. They will have detectors 
for the Deadly Radiations — detectors 
we know nothing of, today, for a 
detection instrument must be free 
from the thing it is intended to de- 
tect, and today everything is radio- 
active. It will be a clay or so before 
they discover what is happening to 
them, and not a few will die in that 
time, I fear; but once they have 
found out what is killing their peo- 
ple, Hradzka’s days — no, his hours 
— will be numbered.” 

“A mass of concrete bigger than 
this place,” Tobbh the Slave repeated 
General Zarvas’ words. "The Ancient 
Spaceport!" 

Prince Burvanny clapped him on 
the shoulder. “Tobbh, man! You’ve 
hit it!” 

“You mean...?” Kradzy Zago be- 
gan. 

“Yes. You all know of it. It’s stood 
for nobody knows how many mil- 
lennia, and nobody’s ever decided 
what it was, to begin with, except 
that somebody, once, filled a valley 
with concrete, level from mountain- 
top to mountain-top. The accepted 
theory is that it was done for a 
firing-stand for the first Moon- 
rocket. But gentlemen, our friend 
Tobbh’s explained it. It is the tomb 
of Hradzka, and it has been the tomb 
of Hradzka for ten thousand years 
before Hradzka was born!” 



^ Beware of ^Tomorrow^^ ^ 



"■TN THE EARLIER days of science fic- 
Q tion, many, if not most of the stories 
dealing with times to come painted 
glowing pictures of "tomorrow”. Scien- 
tific progress was considered as a great 
"Good” in itself, as the guarantee of an 
end to major human problems when more 
>nd still more wonderful inventions sup- 
fX)sedly "emancipated” humankind from 
all kinds of drudgery and insecurity: the 
writers assumed that, once relieved from 
menial labor, people would no longer dis- 
play such anti-social tendencies as greed, 
envy, hate, a desire to dominate, etc. 

As science-fiction continued, however, 
others scribes began to be more wary about 
the future. We began to see stories, some 
taking place in the late 1940s and early 
1950s, which depicted folk of the, then, 
future as not much better off than people 
of the present — which was the 20s and 30s, 
at the time. It was still foreseen that me- 
chanical progress could make for greater 
living comfort for many; but the authors 
allowed for a continuance of all manner of 
irrational behaviour and motivations. 

For we can see, if we look without prej- 
udice, that there is not much basic differ- 
ence between the motivations that inform 
most people today and the basic motiva- 
tions behind the behaviour patterns of the 
so-called barbarous past. Differences? Of 
course there are differences — but too many 
of them are the kind which do not make 
much difference. 

Consider the intrigues of the Middle 
Ages and the intrigues of the Cold War; 
ponder the struggle between the Moslem 
and the Western Worlds, and the strug- 
gles for the World today. Read the various 
speeches and political, moral, etc. exhorta- 
tions of politicians in Republican and Im- 
perial Rome; in an astonishing number of 
instances, only a few phrases would have 
to be changed in order for them to sound 
pretty much like what you read in last 
week’s papers. Some could be reprinted out- 
right and pass for current propaganda. 

Quite true, more "innocent” bystanders 
get killed or maimed in an atomic attack 
than in the attack on one of the old walled 
cities, but those who were killed then were 
no less dead than the victims of the Bomb. 
And, way back Then, there was still the 
proposition that if such and such a "Man 



of the People” only got into high office, 
things would be very much different. It 
was all the fault of the Aristocrats, etc. 
Well, at times the "People’s Choice” did 
get in . . . We can look back now and dis- 
cover that a number of the alleged scoun- 
drels, supposedly responsible for all the 
misery were not much better or much 
worse than those who tossed them out. 

A number of science fiction writers 
have taken such things into account in try- 
ing to depict the future, and a lot of the 
"tomorrows” the)’’ve foreseen have not 
made for inspiring contemplation. It sug- 
gests that many of the long-believed-in 
"solutions” for human mi.sery do not solve 
very much. That doesn’t mean that there 
isn’t any gnswet — or set of answers; it just 
indicates that the chronic solutions that 
keep on popping up aren’t what is needed. 

While one is formulating along these 
lines, it isn’t hard to decide that perhaps 
"Progress” in the villain of the piece, and 
that a simple way out would just be to 
"Stop Progress”. Call a halt to scientific 
discovery; destroy the super weapons; bury 
the books; get rid of the "Scientists”, etc. 
Only such an answer isn’t simple, and it 
has never worked. (It’s been tried on a 
small scale a number of times; results uni- 
formly dismal.) 

You can’t go on figures, sign-posts, and 
logic for this sort of thing. Figures may 
never lie, but Liars figure; sign posts may 
point the way, but they don’t go there 
tliemselves, and they aren’t proof against 
tampering; you can work out neat bits 
of logic, but if your assumptions are false- 
to-fact (and too often this is tlie case 
when most people try to work out human 
problems with logic) you’ll emerge with 
beautifully-worked out unsanity. 

We don’t know the answers ourselves, 
and we don’t know anyone wIk) does — that 
is, we do not know of any substantial 
force in operation that is working with 
any "solution ” which isn’t a repitition of, 
or variation on, what’ has been tried and 
shown false before. That is why we sug- 
gest, "Beware of Tomorrow”. "Beware,” 
here, doesn’t mean "run like hell”; it 
means "don’t sit back and take it for 
gftnted that 'Tomorrow will be better’.” 

The Editor 



50 




Il^VITATION 
FROM THE 




by MORTON KI.A8S 

The stranger came in peace, 
with an invitation to the peo- 
ples of Earth. But to the lead- 
ers of Earth, beings from the 
stars could have only one 
meaning! 



H e noticed him right af- 
ter we left Poughkeepsie, 
on the last lap of our trip 
from Chicago to New York. He was 
strolling along, knapsack on his 
back, fishing rod over one shoulder, 
whistling into the soft spring twi- 
light as if he hadn’t a care in the 
world. 

There weren’t many cars traveling 
by that time of night, so when he 
turned and waved at us with a 
friendly grin, I stopped and asked 
him if he wanted a lift. My wife, 
Gwen, frowned at me because she 
doesn’t like hitchhikers. 

Mow, usually the first thing a per- 
son asks when you’ve given him a 
ride is where you’re heading for. 
This young man was different; af- 
ter thanking us, and arranging his 
rod carefully, he leaned back in the 
rear seat and said, “Do you have the 
right time?’’ 

Gwen was startled, but she glanced 
at the dashboard clock and said, a 
little doubtfully, “Ten minutes after 
six. Why? Arc you in a hurry to 
get somewhere?’’ 

The young man smiled and shook 
his head. I was watching his face in 
the mirror, and, even if I hadn’t 
heard the story, it would •'ave been 




a long time before I forgot that 
funny, twisted smile. 

He hauled a big turnip watch out 
of an inner pocket and inspected the 
face closely before answering Gwen. 
She half-turned to stare at the young 
man over the back of the seat. 

“No,” he said “I’m not in a hurry, 
not the way you mean. And I’m not 
going anywhere in particular. . .to- 
night. You people can let me off any 
place you like ; it really doesn’t make 
any difference.” 

He gazed at the roof of the car as 
if he didn’t know it was there. 

“Out of work?” Gwen inquired. 

“Not working,” he said briefly. 

Gwen frowned, because she doesn’t 
like people who don’t work. 

“Just traveling around?” I asked 
quickly, to forestall trouble. 

“Yup. I thought I’d like to see the 
country before — ” 

“Before what?” Gwen prompted. 

“I could tell you,” the young man 
said, “because L-83 said it wouldn’t 
make any difference if I told peo- 
ple. You probably won’t believe me, 
though. Nobody does.” 

Gwen gave me a quick look which 
told me she’d have a long talk with 
me later about giving rides to stran- 
gers. I tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid 



51 



52 



VtJTlJRE combined wiih SCiEXCE FICTION STORIES 



her eyes. “I work for a radio sta- 
tion,” I said. “You’d be surprised 
what I’d believe. Go ahead and talk, 
if you want to. I’m Tom Anders, by 
the way. This is my wife, Gwen.” 

The young man tipped his battered 
hat to Gwen. “How do. Ma’am. My 
name is Pete Billings. From Nebras- 
ka. Ma and I had a small farm out 
there. That’s where the spaceship 
landed: right in the pump pasture 
where I was plowing.” 

I have good nerves, and I always 
keep ’ooth hands on the wheel, but 
for the next ten seconds the right 
side of the car was on the road 
shoulder, and I’ll never understand 
why we didn’t leave the concrete 
completely. 

“Spaceship?” Gwen squeaked. 
“Yup.” Pete Billings seemed em- 
barrassed. “Told you you wouldn’t 
believe me.” 

I got the wheel under control. 
“You mean — Look, it’s a little hard 
to swallow, but we’d like to hear the 
rest of the story.” 

Pete shrugged. He checked his 
turnip watch again, put it away, and 
settled back in his seat. “Guess old 
L-83 was right, at that. Nobody does 
remember — except me. Anyway, as I 
was saying. . .” 

* * * 

T here I was, sitting easy on 
our new Ford tractor, thinking 
lazy things — like how pretty the 
cows looked, all brown-and-white and 
black-and-white on the green hill — 
and maybe v/ondering what Ma was 
making for lunch. Everything was 
real peaceful, except for the tractor 
exhaust and the midges buzzing 
around my head. 

Suddenly, there was a kind of 
flicker and sort of wind, and there 
this spaceship was, about twenty 
yards in front of me, digging into 
about an acre of good bottom land. 

Of course, I didn’t know it was a 
spaceship then; I figured some Air 
Force plane had made a forced land- 
ing, though I’d never seen any plane 
like this before. 

I killed the motor and walked 
over to the thing. It was low and 
roundish and a funny grey color that 
wasn’t — well, that wasn’t shiny. I cir- 



cled it slowly, getting a little wor- 
rted because it didn’t have any open- 
ings or any Air Force markings — 
or any markings at all, for that mat- 
ter — and I was beginning to think 
maybe it was from some foreign 
country. 

Just before I started around it a 
second time, I saw a white spot ap- 
pear on the grey surface. It started 
growing, fast as a match lighting, 
and pretty soon it was half again as 
tall as a man. Then it stopped grow- 
ing and started shimmering. 

A tall guy, almost seven feet, 
stepped through it onto the ground 
and looked at me. I looked at him. 

I said he was a man, and I’ll stick 
to it, no matter what he told me 
later on. But I’ll admit he was wear- 
ing awful funny clothes — looked 
like green cellophane — when he first 
stepped out, and he was fuzzy 
around the edges in a way that hurt 
my eyes and made me want to turn 
away. 

Anyway, he stared at me, opened 
his mouth a few times and closed it 
as if he thought better of it. Then 
he said, “O man — no, that’s wrong.” 

He slapped a little round black 
box sticking to his left side, and I 
almost fell on my face with surprise f 
He was wearing faded overalls, 
patched blue shirt, and a straw hat: 
quick as that! Neatest trick I ever 
saw! 

He still had the black box, only 
it was on the outside of the overalls 
now. He took a blade of timothy out 
of his mouth and said, “Howdy 
neighbor. Nice day, ain’t it?” 

“Yup,” I said, wondering about 
that quick-change act, but feeling 
happier that things were becoming 
normal. “Ma says it might rain ’fore 
evening, though. You from the Air 
Force?” 

“Uh, no.” He seemed to have troub- 
le finding the right words. “Funny, 
thought they’d be more advanced 
than this,” he muttered to himself. 
Then he brightened. “I’ll put it this 
way: I’m from another v/orld, around 
a different star out in space. In fact, 
I represent a whole bunch of other 
worlds. I’m here to make some... 
tests, and also to tell your people 



INVITATION FROM THE STARS 



53 



something. That's the best way I can 
say it right now. Who runs things 
around here?” 

I grinned and told him, “Look 
friend; I’m Pete Billings, a good 
American citizen who can keep his 
mouth shut. If you want. I’ll take 
you to Mayor Brown who runs the 
county seat. He’ll help you get to 
your base.” 

He shook his head, exasperated. 
“No! Look, I’m L-83, Special Exam- 
iner, and I’ve got to see the most im- 
portant people! Try to think, man! 
The President? No-o-o. What’s a 
national government? Never mind, 
you just thought of it! The United 
Nations! Where is that? New York 
...hm-m, eastern seaboard. Thanks!” 

The funny thing was, I hadn’t said 
a word! You’d think he was reading 
my mind! 

He started to turn back to the 
white spot he’d come out of, then 
stopped. “Care to come along?” he 
asked. “You’re the first Earthman to 
meet me and they’d probably want 
your reactions. Besides, when I speak 
to the authorities, it will be an of- 
ficial statement, and I don’t have too 
much time to spend. The analyzers 
will have completed their recordings 
in a few hours, and I’ll be ready to 
leave. It would save time if I told 
you all the background details to 
pass on to your people.” 

Things had begun to move too fast 
for me. 

“What about Ma?” I asked. “Since 
Pa died, she’s been pretty lonely. If 
I’m not there for lunch, she’ll get 
worried.” 

L-83 waved his hand impatiently. 
“Lunch won’t be ready for about 
three hours; I’ll have you back by 
then. Are you coming?*' 

’W^T^ELL, I’VE always wanted to 
see those United Nation fel- 
lows I’d been hearing about on the 
radio, and, besides. New York and 
back, in three hours! So I followed 
L-33 through the white spot into 
the spaceship. 

I was trying to figure out what 
the white spot was made of — I could 
see it all right, but when I touched 
it it was like trying to lean against 



fog — when I realized I wasn’t stand- 
ing on anything! I was floating in 
the air ! 

Let me tell you I was scared for 
a few seconds right then, even with 
L-83 floating at my right elbow and 
trying to explain how the inside of 
the spaceship w«is weightless or 
gravity-free, or some such thing; all 
I had to do was relax and sort of 
swim wherever I wanted to go. Then, 
when I had calmed down, I took a 
good look around and got scared all 
over again! I was looking straight 
at my own tractor! 

I took a deep breath and tried to 
relax, the way L-83 had said. It 
helped, because I was able to figure 
out that the skin of the spaceship 
was transparent. That is, when you 
were inside looking out. In fact, 
practically everything inside was 
transparent ! You remember I said 
the spaceship was roundish; it was 
like a flattened rubber ball. Trouble 
was, what with being able to see 
through walls and things and the 
poor lighting system the ship — the 
whole place was filled with a pink- 
ish fog — it was hard to make any- 
thing out clearly. 

It’s only truthful to admit that I 
couldn’t figure the nature of nearly 
any of the contraptions lining the 
different walls. Strangest stuff I’d 
ever seen; all funny twists and mo- 
tions. 

“That’s the control room,” L-83 
explained, noticing where I was look- 
ing. I nodded, and figured that the 
area next to it was probably sleeping 
quarters, though I still don’t see how 
a person could sleep comfortably on 
a bed like that. . .if it was a bed. 

Advising me to stay where I was — 
as if I dared move! — L-83 floated 
over to a cluster of grey mounds. He 
stopped near each one for a mo- 
ment, then pushed on to the next. I 
was listening to estrange whirring 
sounds and smelling funny smells — 
they weren’t unpleasant, you under- 
stand, just different — and had about 
given up trying to identify them 
when L-83 finished his job and swam 
back to me. 

“T h e analyzers are operating 
smoothly,” he said. “They’ll have fin- 



54 



FUTURE combined with SCiENCE FiCTiON STORiES 



ished recording when we get back.” 

I told him I was glad to hear it. 
The spaceship was beginning to 
get on my nerves, and I found my- 
self worrying about what the ana- 
lyzers were supposed to record. I 
decided not to ask. 

“We’d better get started, then,” 
L-83 said briskly, and pushed my 
shoulder gently, making me float 
over to what looked like a grey mar- 
ble, over on the other side of the 
spaceship from where we’d come in. 
I was getting the hang of things 
by this time, so when we arrived at 
the marble, which turned out to be 
about ten feet wide, I floated 
through the white spot on its side 
without even blinking. L-83 came in 
behind me. 

“No point in taking the entire 
ship,” he told me, busying himself 
with a bunch of knobs which were 
clustered in one spot. “This lifeboat 
will take us to the east coast of your 
continent fast enough. Just make 
yourself comfortable and enjoy the 
scenery.” 

T he lifeboat began moving, 
went through a white spot which 
appeared in front of it, and we were 
outside the spaceship, going upward. 
The walls were transparent, of 
course, and I could see the whole 
farm laid out below us. Everything 
dwindled; house, barn, silo, even the 
spaceship, became tiny specks and 
then disappeared altogether. 

We were traveling too fast for me 
to make out much of the scenery. I 
saw Chicago, and what I think was 
Toledo, but I’m not sure. Next thing 
I knew, we had parked right on top 
of the United Nations building, with 
armed guards swarming towards us 
from every direction! 

They couldn’t get in, of course, 
but they crowded around the life- 
boat, looking verjj worried, as if they 
thought we might be an atomic bomb. 
L-83 seemed confused. He turned to 
me, shaking his head, and said, “If 
this is official center of your world, 
why should there be armed guards? 
What is there to be afraid of?” 

I started to tell him, but he turned 
away, mumbling, “Should never have 



sent me. H-24 told them the prelim- 
inary graphs were startling. Oh, well, 
orders are orders. Better go to the 
council chamber and get it over with.” 

He twirled a knob. A white spot 
appeared in the roof under us and 
we sank into it, leaving the guards 
falling all over themselves to get 
away from where we were. The spot 
closed over us. 

I was looking upward, admiring 
the neatness of the ceiling — there 
wasn’t a mark to show where we’d 
come through — when I realized we’d 
stopped. 

We were hanging about ten feet 
above the main council chamber’s 
floor. Delegates from every country 
in the world were scrambling in all 
directions. For a moment I thought 
we had come in right in the middle 
of a free-for-all, then, from the way 
they were pointing at us, I knew we 
were the cause of all the ruckus. 

L-S3 was watching them, still mum- 
bling. “Mustn’t stop to integrate 
now,” he v/as saying. “Important 
thing is to follow customary pro- 
cedure exactly. If I deviate from the 
norm, they’ll question all my find- 
ings, back at headquarters. Luckily, 
the language isn’t as limited as I 
feared. Seems to be more than one, 
in the world were scrambling in all 
better change my garb.” 

He slapped the black box again, 
and, just like that, he was wearing 
a neat blue pin-stripe business suit! I 
tell you, he was fast! I had been 
watching him, but I had no idea of 
what he did with the overalls and 
straw hat ! 

L-83 twirled knobs and we floated 
over to a pulpit affair v/here the 
president of the assembly was. At 
least, he was there when we started, 
but he was moving rapidly away 
when we arrived. 

The usual white spot appeared on 
the side of the lifeboat. L-83 floated 
through it and I followed, hoping no 
one v/ould start shooting when we 
came out. They didn’t, everyone be- 
ing too interested in finding out 
what we were like. I giggled, think- 
ing about how surprised they’d be, 
and didn’t see the floor coming up 
to meet my face. I’d become so used 



INVITATION FROM THE STARS 



55 



to weightlessness, I had floated oirt 
of the lifeboat head first! 

L-83 pulled me to my feet, whis- 
pering in my ear, “Quick! Introduce 
me! While they’re standing still!” 
Groggily, I climbed on a chair and 
shouted, in my best Grange-meeting 
voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give 
you L-83, the delegate from outer 
space, with a message I am sure will 
be of interest to you all!” 

There was no applause, which I 
thought a little impolite, but every- 
one seemed to suck in his breath, all 
at once. L-83 helped me off the chair 
and said, "Thanks, Pete. I'll take 
over from here.” 

H e climbed up on the chair, 
put his hands on his hips, and 
looked around the hall. “Mr. Pres- 
ident;” he began, “delegates from 
the United Nations; people of Earth; 
I bear greetings from the peoples of 
the Galaxy. A few of your years ago, 
galactic scientists reported evidence 
of the use of nuclear power on your 
planet. As is customary. Galactic 
Administration on Arcturus Vll sent 
robot observers here to collect on- 
the-spot information — ” 

"Flying saucers !” someone from 
the United States delegation shout- 
ed. 

L-83 nodded pleasantly to him, and 
continued. “Their reports indicated 
that such indeed was the case. There 
were some confusing items to the ef- 
fect that your use of nuclceir energy 
was not for purposes of greater con- 
trol of your environment and as a 
superior power source, but for the 
purpose of inflicting damage to the 
surface of your own planet. This was 
put down to mechanical defects in 
the robots. 

“I was sent here, first, to psycho- 
examine your race — to discover your 
Galactic intelligence level, both pres- 
ent and potential — and second, to 
welcome you into the Association of 
Galactic Peoples.” 

He stopped and looked out at the 
delegates. Would you believe it, 
there wasn’t a sound coming out of 
any of them! 

L-83 ran his hand over his face as 



if he were tired, and continued with 
his speech in a lower voice. 

“That’s the end of the customary 
'Galactic Invitation’. In the case of 
your planet, however, I’m afraid I’d 
better add a few more remarks. From 
what I’ve learned since my arrival, 
I’ve come to understand that the ro- 
bot reports were not in error. Some- 
how, you people have managed to 
combine an amazing mechanical de- 
velopement with a complete lack of 
the usually concurrent social de- 
velopement. This is a situation with- 
out parallel in Galactic history. I 
don’t know what my psych reports 
will show, and therefore cannot pre- 
dict the future actions of Adminis- 
tration. 

“I want to emphasize, though, that 
it will probably be necessary for you 
to give up all means of warfare, for- 
get this thing you call ‘National 
Sovereignty’, and undergo an inten- 
sive period of social education. Then, 
perhaps — ” 

L-83 was drowned out by the angry 
yells of the delegates. They’d been 
murmuring louder and louder as he 
was going through the last part of 
his speech, and that last remark of 
his was too much for them. 

I couldn’t make out much of what 
they were shouting; too many people 
were talking at once in too -many 
languages. The Russian delegate 
shouted something I didn’t catch, but 
L-83, who apparently could under- 
stand Russian, heard him. He shout- 
ed back, “Nevertheless, the well-be- 
ing of the galaxy will be considered 
before any of your local problems!” 

The Russian delegate got red in 
the face and shook his fist, yelling 
angrily. The American delegate ran 
over and tugged L-83’s sleeve. “The 
United States has never waged an 
aggressive war,” he bellowed, “but 
we reserve the right to elect our own 
leaders, arm our citizens, and protect 
our shores!” 

“Can’t you people understand — ” 
L-83 began, when the President of 
the Assembly started banging hi# 
gavel and calling for silence. 

It took time, but finally he man-* 
aged to restore order. Then he turned 
to L-83 and said, with a slight ac« 



56 



FUTURE combined with SCMENCE PiCTiON STORiES 



cent, “Mr. ah, L-83. The people of 
the United Nations have received 
your message. And, while I may say 
it is odd for a man purporting to 
come from another world to be wear- 
ing an Earthman’s business suit — ” 

I could have told the President 
that was the wrong thing to say. L-83 
frowned, shrugged, and slapped the 
black box. He was now wearing over- 
alls and straw hat! 

“Like this better?” L-83 asked, 
grinning. One tremendous groan 
went up from all the delegates. “Or, 
if you prefer, this is closer to what 
I’m actually wearing.” He had 
slapped the box again and was 
dressed in the green cellophane I’d 
first seen him in. 

The President took a firm grip on 
his gavel and gulped hard. He start- 
ed talking in a weak voice. “Never- 
theless, all of your scientific feats 
might have been developed right 
here on Earth. I find it hard to be- 
lieve that a non-human could look 
so — so human.” 

You had to hand it to the Pres- 
ident; he had guts. L-83 started to 
slap the box again, then changed his 
mind. He said, “The form you see is 
an illusion, of course, but I don’t 
think you’d enjoy seeing what I 
really look like!” 

The President shuddered. “We’ll 
accept your statements as true,” he 
said heavily, “at least, until the con- 
trary is definitely proven.” 

He took a deep breath and went 
on, “Mr. L-83, if people from other 
worlds wish peacefully to send us 
ambassadors and trade representa- 
tives, we are prepared to show them 
every honor and courtesy. But — if 
you try to impose alien customs on 
our planet by force. Earth will re- 
sist to the last man — no matter how 
overwhelming the odds ! 

The delegates burst into wild ap- 
plause, then stopped short, as if their 
hands had been cut off, when L-83 
made a motion of exasperation. “This 
whole thing has been a mistake from 
the start. I should never have de- 
livered a Galactic Invitation to this 
planet. Now things are getting out of 
hand. I’ll have to take emergency 
measures I” 



He turned to me. “Come on, Pete I 
It’s time we left!” 

EFORE anyone could move, he 
was through the white spot and 
into the lifeboat with me close at 
his heels. L-83 jiggled knobs and we 
went upward, fast. When we were 
about fifty feet above the building, 
the lifeboat came to a stop. For al- 
most a quarter of an hour we hung 
there, while L-83 twisted knobs, 
slapped panels, and flicked levers. 

I was beginning to get scared, be- 
cause I expected any minute to see 
fighter planes come at us, guns blaz- 
ing, when L-83 straightened up, 
grinning. “That does it,” he said. 
“I’ve erased all memory of our visit 
down there. Only the analyzers 
back on my ship will show anything.” 

“What about newspapermen’s re- 
ports,” I asked, “and suppose the 
session went out over the radio?” 

L-83 shrugged. “Don’t worry. 
What I’ve done has taken care of 
all of that. And if anything does get 
out, it will be considered some sort 
of hoax. Your people tend to put 
very little faith in each other’s 
words ; not that I blame you, con- 
sidering. 

“Anyway, there’s nothing to keep 
us here now. I want to get back to 
the spaceship and see what those 
psych reports indicate!” 

We went back faster than we had 
come, and there wasn’t even time to 
talk along the way, supposing L-83 
was disposed to talk — which he 
wasn’t. 

* * 

It was good to see the farm again. 
We dipped in over a cloud bank and 
the lifeboat zoomed into the space- 
ship like a raindrop hitting a pond. 

L-83 dived at the side of the life- 
boat and the white spot materialized 
to meet him. He skimmed across the 
spaceship like an oversized fish to 
the grey humps and began to run 
his hands over the top of the first 
one he came to. Since he hadn’t told 
me to stay where I was this time, I 
followed him, traveling a lot slower 
than he had. 

When I arrived at his side, I saw 
ne had the top of the hump open 




INVITATION FROM THE STARS 



57 



and was examining some tiny crys- 
tals he’d removed from inside it. He 
had a very unhappy look on his 
face, and without looking up from 
the crystals, he shook his head and 
said, “Bad, Pete, very bad; I hadn’t 
expected the readings would be 
quite this bad.’’ 

“What does it show?” I asked 
looking over his shoulder anxiously. 

He put the crystals back in the 
grey hump, closed the top, and 
straightened up wearily. 

“Pete,” he said, “your people are 
sick, and it’s a terrible sickness you 
have. I don’t quite know how to ex- 
plain it to you. All the other races 
of the galaxy have a history 
different from yours. Once they’d 
achieved a certain low level of 
civilization and become the domi- 
nant form of life on their planet, 
they gradually lost their primitive 
aggressive traits and began to de- 
velope the social sciences at about 
the same speed they learned the 
physical ones.” 

He swam back and forth in front 
of rae. I sat huddled on the trans- 
parent floor, not daring to breathe. 

“Take my race, for example,” he 
went on. “After they’d passed the 
equivalent of your Late Neolithic Pe- 
riod, there were no wars of any im- 
portance on the planet. And the ones 
that did happen became rapidly less 
and less frequent and intense. But 
there is something else. It took your 
race approxmiately ten thousand 
years to go from that period to 
where you are now. My people — and 
nearly all the other races of the 
galaxy — needed almost fifty thousand 
years of your time to cover the same 
amount of mechanical development.” 

L-83 stopped swimming and stared 
at me. “Do you realize what that 
means?” 

“N-no,” I said, becoming even more 
worried. 

“It means two things. First, that 
your warlike habits made you need 
ever better weapons, and then, of 
course, ever better defenses against 
those weapons. This is an indication 
of the direction almost all your sci- 
entific development has taken, a di- 
rection completely alien to that of 



the rest of the galaxy. The second 
thing is even more important. That’s 
what I came back to the ship to 
check up on. Your race has an amaz- 
ingly high intelligence potential... 
one of the highest in the galaxy. But 
coupled with it, is a tremendous in- 
stability.” 

L-83 sighed, and his face had the 
saddest expression on it I ever saw. 
“Do you know what came into the 
minds of those delegates wh*n our 
observers — the ‘flying saucers’ — ^ 

were mentioned? Do you know the 
very first thing your leaders en- 
visioned?” 

I could guess. Yeah, I could guess 
very well. “Invasion,” I said. 

L-83 nodded. “Precisely. Every del- 
egate there immediately got a men- 
tal projection of warfare, men and 
women of your race fighting and de- 
stroying a great fleet of flying sau- 
cers. And they envisioned weapons 
which you do not have, but which I 
am sure can — and might — readily bo 
developed. Not one man considered 
the possibility of other life-forms 
being any less warlike than them- 
selves. That is why Earth is the 
greatest danger the Galaxy has ever 
faced.” 

I gulped : I didn’t feel good at 
all. “What are you going to do 
about it?” 

L-83 shrugged and stared away 
from me. “I am not sure of the de- 
tails, of course. Galactic Administra- 
tion will have to make the final de- 
cisions after all my reports have 
been checked and tabulated. I can 
predict certain inevitabilities, how- 
ever: it will be necessary to clamp a 
tight control on your planet, prevent 
all possibility of conflict here, and 
. . . elimination of all spoiled elements 
of your race.” 

“You mean — kill them?" 

He thought about that for a while. 
“In your terms.” he said finally, “it 
will be the equivalent of their be- 
ing dead. ...Yes, when the ‘flying 
saucers’ come back, there will be 
war — because your orientation has 
ruled out everything else. Your lead- 
ers and their followers will put up 
a fight, a hard one, I’m sure.” 

“Listen, L-83,” 1 said, without 



58 



PtJTVRE combined with SCIEI^CE FiCTIOJV STORIES 



much hope. “Why not go away and 
forget about us? You say you don’t 
want us in your organization; well, 
can’t you just ignore us, then?’’ 

83 SWAM over to me and put 
his hand on my shoulder. I 
looked in his eyes, and the sadness 
was still there, but his answer 
smashed any last shreds of hope I 
had. 

“I’m afraid you can’t understand, 
Pete. Your people are both danger- 
ous and wasteful. Wasteful because, 
while, from what I glimpsed glanc- 
ing over the psych reports, there’s a 
good chance humanity — if left alone 
— might completely destroy itself 
soon, you’ll probably ruin the planet 
doing it. There are a lot of worthy 
races scattered around the galaxy, 
whose suns are dying or whose 
worlds are overcrowded, who would 
leap at the chance to populate a 
planet like this. And do a better job 
of it, too. Furthermore, a cataclysm 
on Earth might endanger the strug- 
gling young races on Venus and 
Mercury; they deserve a chance, too. 

“And we can’t forget about you, as 
you suggest, Pete. Even if the final 
graphs show a likelihood of your 
wiping yourselves out, we couldn’t 
trust the accuracy of our Psycho- 
math in a situation like this. It isn’t 
accustomed to dealing with your 
type of psychology. If we made a 
mistake, then in fifty years — the 
way you’re going now — you’d have 
interstellar travel and be endan- 
gering the peace of the entire gal- 
axy. Perhaps, if you were a less ca- 
pable race — . No. Sorry, Pete, but I’m 
afraid what I’ve outlined will be the 
only possible course of action.’’ 

He looked at me for a second 
without speaking, then said softly. 
“You’ll have to go now, Pete; there’s 
nothing to keep me here, anymore, 
so I’ll be on - my way with my re- 
ports.” 

I nodded, turned, and swam awk- 
wardly to the white spot on the out- 
er surface of the spaceship. Care- 
fully, I stepped out onto the grass 
and stood looking up at the noon 
sun and drinking in the spring 
breeze. It was hard to believe it was 



the same day I’d been plowing with- 
out a care in the world. 

The World. 

• I turned to L-83, who had followed 
me out of the spaceship. 

“What would things be like,” I 
asked, “if we had been. . .normal?” 
He smiled again, more sadly than 
ever before. “Well, supposing you’d 
still developed at the rate you did, 
you would have eliminated illness 
by this time. Mental illnesses as well 
as physical ones, of course. Your 
lives would be perhaps twice as 
long. 

“You’d have put your energies 
into conquering deserts and waste 
areas. There’d be no starvation, no 
poverty, no sections of the race un- 
able to acquire those necessities and 
luxuries obtainable by other sections. 
Most important; you’d have sloughed 
off barbaric customs and ideas. By 
this time, you’d have been sharing 
work and pleasure equally, and there 
would be a minimum of the first and 
a maximum of the second. You’d 
have a thorough understanding of 
yourselves and be living in complete 
harmony with the universe.” 

There wasn’t much I could say, 
but I made a last effort. “You know, 
there have been people who’ve tried 
to teach us those things. We do un- 
derstand the meaning of them. 
Wouldn’t that mean — ” 

L-83 shook his head. "I know about 
them. I’ve learned a lot about hu- 
manity since I landed. There are 
some good qualities in you. That’s 
why I believe it won’t be necessary 
to eliminate you all.” 

“How — how many will be left, af- 
terwards?” It was the question I’d 
been afraid to ask. 

S WE SIGHED. “That’s one of the 
JSL things Administration will de- 
cide, after they’ve analyzed my re- 
ports. From what I’ve seen, however, 
I’d estimate that not more than ten 
percent of humanity can be permit- 
ted to remain. It might be as little 
as two percent, though I doubt it. 
Somewhere within those two fig- 
ures, in any case. We’ll have to elim- 
inate all those who are spoiled and 
who carry the genes of instability. 




INVITATION FROM THE STARS 



59 



Those left will be mostly the very 
young and such older people as are 
untainted or can be educated. 

“After we finish the elimination 
process, we’ll have the problem of 
education. It will take years and tax 
the resources of the galaxy, but it 
has to be done.’’ 

L-83 reached out and shook my 
hand. “Good=bye, Pete,” he said. “I’m 
sorry, sorrier than I can say. Which 
reminds me; it’s unfair for you to 
be burdened with the shortcomings 
of your race. Perhaps I’d better make 
you forget — ” 

His left hand moved down to the 
black box at his side. I raised my 
hand protestingly. “That’s not fair 
L-83! You invited me along: you’ve 
no right to tamper with me ! Be- 
sides, I want to know what’s com- 
ing so I can prepare for it in my 
own way. If you don’t want me to 
I won’t tell anyone.” 

He smiled again, looking straight 
into my eyes. “It won’t matter if 
you talk about it, Pete; no one will 
believe you. But if you really want 
to remember. I’ll fix it so that you’ll 
remember everything that’s hap- 
pened.” 

Before I could move, he’d slapped 
the black box. And — you know — I 
have remembered everything — even 
words I didn’t understand ! 

* * * 

I T WAS A moment or two before 
I realized that Pete Billings had 
stopped talking, before I realized 
that sometime during the course of 
his story I’d stopped driving. I was 
sitting hunched over the steering 
wheel, clutching it with both hands 
as if my life depended on it. 

My wife, Gwen, let out a long, 
pent-up breath. I sat up, shaking un- 
controllably. I killed the motor and 
stared past Gwen at the freshly 
plowed field we’d stopped alongside 



of. A full moon had come up. It was 
a beautiful night. 

“When did all this happen?” Gwen 
asked. I never heard her voice shake 
that way before. 

The young man was gathering his 
things, preparing to leave. 

“Last year — about this time. I 
don’t know how long it takes L-83 
to make the trip to wherever he was 
going and back here, but I don’t 
think there’s much time left. 

“Thanks for the ride, folks. I’ll be 
getting off here. Think I’ll spend the 
night in the field and head north in 
the morning. I’d like to see Canada 
maybe Alaska — if there’s time. Good 
night!” 

He got out of the car. 

“One more question, please, Pete!’* 
I called loudly, afraid he wouldn’t 
hear. He turned back and put his 
head through Gwen’s window. 

“Why are you so worried, Pete? I 
mean — you seem to be a pretty de- 
cent guy, and according to what you 
said, L-83 seemed to like you. Sure- 
ly, you won’t — ” 

He turned his eyes away from 
mine. “After L-83 left, I thought 
things over and decided to leave the 
farm, see the country. We had 
enough money in the bank for Ma 
to hire someone to take care of 
things. At least, there’ll be enough 
till — till L-83 gets back. Then it 
probably won’t make any difference, 
anyway. Poor Ma: she just couldn’t 
understand why I wanted to leave.” 

Pete Billings turned to face me. 
That look in his eyes — “You see, I 
was never too good in school. When 
L-83 shook my hand and said good- 
bye... well, it reminded me of the 
times I’d taken tests and the teacher 
had tried to avoid my eyes before 
telling me my mark. L-83 knew — and 
I knew — that I’d flunked for sure.” 

THE END 



★ ★ ★ 



ITERATION 

bg C. M. KORNBLUTn 

The soap opera is here to stay, 
radio aiul video versions. Ever 
consider the possible end- 
result? 

I PUNCHED IIIAA24 and heard 
over my boneplione, v/incing: 
“Darling — you’re. . .back!” 

I cut the wince short and threw in 
the life lever. Joe Henderson, stand- 
ing in the actor’s dock, said brood- 
ingly: “Yes, dear...” He registered 
worry, then gallantry and cheerful- 
ness. I threw out the life lever and 
punched IVTG13, which was a 
young couple, summer clothes, seen 
walking into their suburban bunga- 
low. 

I could’ve played that score in my 
sleep; I don’t know how many times 
the soapies have used it — 

I asked you not to interrupt me, 
damn it! You wanted to know why 
I ran out and I said I’d tell you — 
oh, dinner? 

What’s this stuff — b e e p — oh, 
beef? ’S good. Hard on the jaws 
first time, though — I'll go on with 
the story. 

You want to know why they don’t 
punch it on rolls like a jacquard 
loom, do you? Once they used to, 
but even a weaving machine inakes 
mistakes. When there’s a mistake 
they just rip it out and go on. But 
when the soapies go out — 

Their pattern either got punched 
wrong or the machine slipped or 
something. So when Old Ma 
Whiddicomb came into the screen 
instead of lavender from the grill 
you got IXWQ09, v/hich is used in 
stable scenes. And once, on When 
a Man Marries Joan’s Big Sister 
everything was going fine on a big 
renunciation scene — Joan was giv- 
ing up David — she kept up a brave 




front and walked away smiling. 
When she turned the corner she was 
supposed to run for her bedroom 
and burst into tears, but instead of 
her bedroona door closing, the ma- 
chine cut in a shot of a two-holer 
from Uncle Eb of Gobbler’s Nob. 

That’s what the present system 
evolved out of, and it’s foolproof. I 
took three years at the Rochester 
Conservatory and did PG at the Jul- 
liard. Give me any score, one with 
a hundred sets, landscapes, weather, 
twenty actors in the dock, scents to 
match everything, mood music 
changing every two seconds — I can 
handle it. 

Pay is right, brother — didn’t catch 
your name? — how’d’y’do, Mr. Os- 
good. I got two thousand a month 
and a pension plan for a twelve- 
hour week. 

Okay, okay — I’m telling you why 
I ran out. In fact I’ve told you al- 
ready. It was that line: “Darling — 
you’re back!” 

It’s a dramatic convention, I sup- 
pose, like the property man in the 
Chinese theater, or a Chorus in the 
Greek, or asides in the big tub- 
thumping "Victorian days. If an 
Athenian Greek didn’t have a chorus 
to explain what was going on he’d 
feel bewildered and cheated. If the 
housewife watching a soapie didn’t 
see the heroine say to her husband 
when he comes home : “Darling — 
yovL’rc. . .back!” she’d think there 



60 



ITERATION 



61 



was something wrong and worry 
about it. 

No, don’t ask me why they say it. 
I don’t know why a dame who just 
saw her husband leave for work at 
ten should register surprise, delight 
and wonder when he comes back 
home at fifteen o’clock. They just 
do, in the soapies. 

Anyway, I was telling you about 
the day before yesterday. In a nice 
blend of canned shots by me and 
close-ups by Henderson and his babe 
we ground our way through the next 
ten minutes. It was established that 
Henderson had lost his job because 
of an inexplicable decline in his ef- 
ficiency index; he groaned that he 
was no good and would run out be- 
cause it would be better that way. 

Then we cut to Henderson’s moth- 
er-in-law and established that she’d 
slipped him some phenylethylbar- 
bituric acid instead of his vitamins, 
so he’d lose his job and run out and 
she could marry her daughter off to 
a man she had her eye on. Some nice 
canned stuff in that sequence of her 
hands opening a capsule and chang- 
ing the powder in it, all with the 
appropriate chemical scents. 

Cut back to Henderson, making 
his will before running out. His wife 
shyly comes in and shows him a tiny 
identification tag she’s been making. 

“You don’t mean — ?’’ cries Hen- 
derson and she lowers her eyes. I 
step down hard on the benzedrine 
pedal, throw in the Halleluiah Cho- 
rus, set up Abstraction 17 for two 
seconds and cut to the announcer, 
who’s been combing his beard and 
worrying about a blackhead he just 
noticed. 

“Ladies!’’ he cries — big smile — 
“How often lately have you been 
making the FT?” He lowers his 
voice, winks a little and coos: “FT, 
as of course you all know, stands 
for the famous Cam Brothers Flatu- 
lence Test — ” 

Pete Laurie comes to relieve me 
on the console and I’m through for 
the day; I walk out on the Com- 
mercial and head for the Olde Tyme 
Speake, down the street. 



1 DON’T know if any of you are 
New Yorkers — ^maybe you know 
the Speake? It’s a really quaint 
place with authentic atmosphere, 
early twentieth century— old oak 
rafters and red-leather bar-stools, a 
rack of shaving mugs, lots of chrom- 
ium. They have mottoes on the wall 
from the period — Landlord, Fill the 
Flowing Bowl, Nuts to You, and 
things like that. 

Can I have some more of that 
beep stuff? I mean beef. I’ll learn, 
quit the kidding — I only ran out last 
night, fella! 

Anyway, I met Sam Caldicott at 
the Speake. Could’ve knocked nae 
over with a feather. We were class- 
mates at Chicago Metaphysical be- 
fore I went to Rochester. He was go- 
ing to go in for dietetics or some- 
thing. • 

“Hello, Sam!” I said. 

“You too,” he growled, looking up. 
“Go to Dachau.” He was nasty- 
drunk, but he finally recognized me. 
I got him a wake-up and had a but- 
tered rum myself. When the stuff 
worked on him he apologized and 
asked me politely what I was doing 
with myself. I told him I was a 
soapie consolist; he gave me a funny 
look. 

He had switched from dietetics to 
psychiatry pretty late and so had 
had to start learning almost from 
the beginning again. He’d been in 
practice only six years, but he said 
he was doing nicely. 

“Well,” I said, “If I’m ever 
tempted to run out I’ll give you a 
ring and you can talk me out of it.” 
“Are you so sure I would?” 

I shuddered at the thought. “If 
you’re any kind of friend, you will; 
the hell with that Reserve stuff!” 
“Ever been there?” 

“No,” I told him, “and I never 
will. A bunch of howling barbarians 
that couldn’t stand the gaff, thought 
they were higher-strung than any- 
body else — sissies is what they are. 
They slip back culturally to the 
twentieth or fifteenth century and 
they think they’re rugged he-men!” 
“It could be worse,” he said tol- 
erantly. His eyes narrowed as he 



62 



FVTVItE combined with SCIENCE FICTION STOHIES 



seemed to remember something: “I’m 
treating a woman now — pitiful case; 
hopeless, I fear. She’d be a hell of a 
lot better off if she’d been in the 
Utah Reserve for the past few 
years.” 

I gave him some stuff from a talk 
I’d had with Mr. Administrator Et- 
terson. He’d had it absolutely first- 
hand that they were practicing hu- 
man sacrifice in the Reserve. Caldi- 
cott just laughed; he simply didn’t 
believe it. I asked him what he 
meant by that crack about the 
woman who should have run out. He 
said he’d show me. I had to get home 
to my wife, but he got me mad 
enough to forget about it for the 
time being. We took a flit to Bron- 
nix, the Morrisania Hospital where 
he was Resident Psychiatrist. 

He warned me outside- the patient’s 
room that I’d better keep my mouth 
shut — the least little thing could 
send her off into one of her spasms. 
We went in. 

The woman was knitting, her eye 
on a soapie screen. She turned to 
us — not bad looking — and said to 
Caldicott: “Darling — you’re . . . 

back!’’ Just like that. Then she reg- 
istered alarm, apprehension and cu- 
riosity and said, batting her eyes at 
me: “But — won’t you. . .introduce 

me?” 

It was hard to keep from looking 
around for the ike and the console. 
I’ve played and seen that situation 
a thousand times and now I was 
meeting it in real life! 

“This is my associate,” said Caldi- 
cott ambiguously. He snapped off 
the soapie just as Vera Venable, the 
Alienist’s niece, was pleading with 
Professor Sykes not to fire her uin- 
cle from the clinic staff. 

The woman went crazy — well, she 
was crazy, of course, but she began 
to act it then. 

“Turn it on !” she screamed. 
“You’ve left poor Vera hanging in 
the ether! Call her back! Don’t 
leave her out there!” 

Caldicott resignedly turned the 
soapie back on, and the woman said, 
arching her brows: “Why — thank 



you, darling ! That was . . . very 
sweet!” Running the last two words 
together and simultaneously lower- 
ing her eyes with a shy little smile. 
The line was another oldie, used 
several times a day to cover every- 
thing from passing an ashtray to a 
diamond ring. 

W E LEFT and went to the hos- 
pital refectory. 

The refectory soapie screen was 
on of course, and I was alarmed to 
find I was alarmed at the number of 
people who were watching it. Caldi- 
cott read my expression, and gave a 
sour grin. 

“She’s the first,” he said simply. 
“Go to Dachau! I don’t believe 
it!” 

“You will soon. I tell you, she’s 
the first. There are going to be 
more — and more — and more. 

“Consider: as long ago as the 
twentieth century there were house- 
wives who never differentiated be- 
tween real persons and the audio- 
performers whom they listened to 
daily. They worried with them, 
laughed with them, discussed them 
as though they were absent neigh- 
bors. With the slow development of 
the additional circuits — video, oleo, 
full-color and tactile for those who 
like it — the effect was magnified. 
With the Krebski Formula of the 
last century, which related the nu- 
merical quantities of music to the 
numerical quantities of the electro- 
encephalogram curves produced by 
the music, the effect was perfected. 

“The housewife of today, frankly, 
has a soft touch. She dusts, washes 
dishes, waxes floor and so on by 
tapping button. With her spare time 
she watches the soapie screen, and 
she has a lot of spare time. I’ve 
drawn a graph — ” 

He took out a sheet of paper and 
smoothed it carefully. I don’t pre- 
tend to understand such things; I’m 
a consolist, not a tube-jocky, and I 
told him so. 

“But look,” he urged. “Here’s the 
abscissa meaning ‘log-log of number 
of Caldicott Syndrome cases at one 
time’—” 



ITERATION 



“Caldicott Syndrome?” 

“That’s what I call it,” he said 
modestly. “And this red circle indi- 
cates where we stand on the time- 
axis now. You see the rise — ” 

I finally looked and laughed at 
what I saw. “You really think,’’ I 
said, “that the saturation point’s 
been reached?’’ 

“I predicted it a year ago,” he 
said solemnly. “I was actually wait- 
ing for the case you just saw to turn 
up. I believe that there will be five 
hundred cases tomorrow, two thou- 
sand cases the next day, and so on. 
Pfannkuchen’s studies in mass hys- 
teria — ” 

I got up. “If you’re right,” I said, 
“I’ll be the first man to run out and 
join the wild-men in the Utah Re- 



serve. But Caldicott, I think you’r* 
all wet. That woman upstairs is 
weak-minded and that’s sdl there is 
to it. I work with the soapies; I 
can’t believe that any normal person, 
like my wife, say, could be knocked 
off the trolley by them. I’ve got to 
go now; I’ll ^ seeing you around." 
* * * 

I left and took a flit for Linden, 
where I live. Pfannhuchen’s studies 
in mass hysteria, my eye ! 

But my wife met me at the door 
and said, with surprise, delight and 
apprehension : “Darling — you’re . . . 

backr 

Would you pass me some more o£ 
that beef stuff? 

THE END 



^ T oday and T omorrow ^ 



We plead “Not Guilty” to the 
charge of an excessive love for New 
York, one that makes us select let- 
ters from residents of our state for 
Down to Earth. A number of letters 
in this issue were crowded out which 
accounts for New York coming up 
high in the count for a second time; 
the reason it led in the July issue 
was simply that, due to deadlines, I 
could only select from the first 
comers. With the next issue, I hope 
more states will be represented — 
though the letter itself and not the 
address of the writer gets first con- 
sideration. 

You’ll note that only one story is 
continued through the back of the 
book this time ; the complaint on 
several stories having been so folioed 
seems to me to be just one, and we’ll 
try to avoid that happening again. 

With book reviews: first of all, I 
can only review books sent to me by 
the publishers; secondly, they’ll go 
in when there’s space. This time, 
there wasn’t. I cannot even hope to 
keep right up with the book publish- 
ing schedules ; should you see a re- 
view in advance of, or only a little 



while after, publication it will be a 
happy accident — one which pleases 
me as much as anyone else. But we 
cannot count on it. 

For the November issue, George O. 
Smith is back with a long one, en- 
titled “The World-Mover”, dealing 
with the fascinating results of a very 
peculiar kind of atomic reaction. It’s 
a wild tale, but I think you’ll agree, 
a very enjoyable one. 

James Blish and Damon Knight 
have collaborated on a novelet, deal- 
ing with the first space-ship out 
from Earth. The travellers encount- 
er another space-ship — yes, I know 
this has happened before in science 
fiction — but there is something dif- 
ferent about this other ship. The 
story is not what you would expect 
from this situation. 

There’ll be others, good ones from 
my viewpoint, but I don’t want to 
strain the forecast department. As 
anyone who’s been in this business 
knows, just the short story you want 
to rave about is the one which can’t 
be fitted in at the last moment. 

RWI# 



Tlte liOng Retnni 

FEATURE NOVEL 

Jktttlejrs&n 

(illustration by Murphy) 

They were an odd pair. Thornton, the idealist philosopher, and 
Moss Henry, ship's captain and Fighting man. Yet, they both 
hated war — each in his own way — both dreaded the setmingly 
inevitable conflict between Earth and Venus. Then the Ancient 
Race, the long-forgotten Martians, returned from the stars, and 
Thornton found that his pacifism had doomed both planets to 
certain destruction . . . 



MATE, Eisenberg, was on 
^ the bridge and saw it first. Kis 
voice came over the intercom 
and rattled against Captain Henry’s 
sleep-walled consciousness : “Space- 
ship detected. Better come up and 
have a look, sir.’’ 

“Eh — oh—:’’ With an effort. Moss 
Henry pulled himself out of v/armth 
and darkness. He blinked, focusing 
his eyes on the dim, crowded cubby- 
hole which passed for his cabin. 
“Spaceship — oh, yes. Yeah. I’ll be 
right up.” 

Momentarily, unbuckling from the 
stanchions that held him in place 
against weightlessness, he thought 
wryly that the use of such terms 
as “up” and “down” was sheer an- 
achronism. But no matter. There 
was more urgent business at hand. 
Another ship, out here in the utter 
desolation of trans-Neptunian space, 
meant — ^well — 

He weighed the possi’oilities with 
a sudden cold realization that his 
life might depend on a correct as- 
sessment. Neptune itself was a quar- 
ter way further on its orbit, so this 
would not be some supply ship for 
Triton Colony. In fact, it was high- 
ly unlikely to be any Terrestrial 
ctext. There was no reason for mer- 
chant vessels to come out here, and 
with all hell ready to explode in 
the inner System no navy units 
would be in outer space. A few 
Would be guarding Neptune, but the 



Fleet as a whole would be patrol- 
ling around Earth. 

That meant — another archeologi- 
cal ship? No, that was definitely out. 
They were sweeping certain well- 
defined regions of space, and the 
nearest one to the Bolivar was a 
good many megamiles off. 

So the strange craft was most 
likely Venusian. Which meant — 

“Battle stations!” His voice sound- 
ed hollow in the little cabin, but 
it went roaring over the intercom; 
he could almost feel the sudden 
tensing of every man aboard, of the 
whole ship. “Strange vessel detect- 
ed. All hands to battle stations!” 

There might not be a fight, he 
thought, scrambling into the worn 
dungarees which were his closet ap- 
proximation to a uniform. Every 
Terrestrial-Venusian encounter did 
not lead to a skirmish. Sometimes 
they passed each other in a sullen 
silence. But too often there would 
be another “incident”, followed by 
diplomatic protests from either gov- 
ernment, inflammatory speeches at 
home, and the racking up of tension 
another notch toward the breaking 
point. Or there might simply be a 
brief notice in the official journals 
of one planet or the other that such- 
and-such a ship was overdue, search 
parties had found no trace — they 
rarely did, in the vastness of space 
— and the ship must be presumed 
lost. Next of kin have been notified. 



64 







t can see the Venusian fleet, over our cities now. 



55 





66 



FUTURE combined with SCiENCE FICTION STORIES 



T he bolivar was only a small 
merchant ship, and more than a 
little obsolete. But she carried guns 
and space torpedoes, as all ships did 
these days, and there were a dozen 
men to man them. For a moment, the 
thought crossed Henry’s mind that 
the ship could easily get by with a 
crew of three or four, if it weren’t 
for that possibility of attack. And 
what the hell was the sense of all 
this squabbling with Venus? What 
did it mean for either side but death 
and ruination and needless expense? 

He pulled himself out of the cabin 
by the handholds and gave a shove 
that sent him rapidly down the cor- 
ridor toward the bridge. As he came 
to the companionway, he collided vi- 
olently with Thornton. 

“Hell!” snarled Captain Henry. 
“Get out o’ the way!” 

Bradley Thornton stiffened. The 
archeologist was tall and lean and 
gray, with long, thin-chiseled fea- 
tures burned dark by years under 
the acrid sun of Mars. .Henry knew 
vaguely that he came of one of 
Earth’s old and wealthy families. In- 
sofar as Earth had an aristocracy 
these days, Thornton belonged to it. 
Which hadn’t improved relations be- 
tween the two men; Henry had be- 
gun as a Negro stevedore in the Ter- 
raport slums. 

“Captain,” said Thornton coldly, 
“I represent the Terrestrial Arche- 
ological Institute, which hired this 
ship with the understanding that I 
retain the final authority.” 

“You moron, this is an emergen- 
cy! If that’s a Venusian ship — ” 
“Then you may have the com- 
mand.” The way he said it, Thorn- 
ton relegated Venusian ships to the 
category of work suitable for the 
lower classes. “But — I don’t think it 
is. Captain Henry.” 

“What—” 

“We’ll see!” Thornton led the 
way “up” the companionway. 

They came onto the bridge, and 
the tremendous star-blazing dark of 
space swam before their eyes. Eisen- 
berg looked up from the oscilloscope 
of the detector. His voice held puz- 
zlement and a dim fear, as if the 
cold outside had reached through 



and touched his heart. “She — it’s 
coming in almighty fast, sir,” he 
said. “And — not in the ecliptic 
plane. From about forty degrees 
north of it — ” 

Henry heard Thornton draw a 
sudden gasping breath, and sav/ the 
archeologist’s eyes light with a sud- 
den incredulous triumph. For an in- 
stant the captain hung wondering 
in midair. He had never seen such a 
light in a man’s face before. 

But there was work to do, no 
time to lose; he shoved his stocky 
form over to the instrument board 
and glared at the dials. 

The signal on the oscilloscope 
wavered before his eyes, dancing, 
blurred by cosmic interference. But 
no doubt of it, the radar was report- 
ing a considerable metallic mass ap- 
proaching from — well, approaching 
the sun from somewhere else. Some- 
where out of the ecliptic plane — 

He looked up at Thornton, and 
realization came slowly to him. But 
he should have known it, he should 
have known it. He said quietly: “You 
knew this was coming.” 

“Yes — yes — but I didn’t dare 
hope our ship would be the one to — 
Quick, man, quick! Intercept it!” 

Automatically, Henry’s attention 
shifted back to the instruments. 
The continuously recording tape of 
the detector held already enough 
data to work out the thing’s orbit 
with fair accuracy. The radar time- 
signal gave the component of the 
stranger’s velocity in this direction, 
and from the rate of angular shift 
it was easy to calculate the orthogo- 
nal component. Then if you as- 
sumed that the course was a straight 
line — which would, out here so far 
from the sun, be very nearly true — 
you could plot a trajectory for your- 
self which would intersect that of 
the other craft and tnatch veloci- 
ties — Henry’s fingers danced over 
the computer keys. Almost absently, 
he spoke into the intercom: “Stand 
by to accelerate.” 

There was no word between him 
and Thornton until the Bolivar was 
leaping forward at a gravity and a 
half. Then Henry sat back and got 
out a stubby pipe. “We’ll make con- 



THE LONG RETURN 



tact in about ten hours,” he said. 
“Assuming, <rf course, that they 
don’t take evasive action. And now. 
Doctor Thornton, would you mind 
telling me what in the hell this is 
all about?” 

T hornton smiled wryly. “To 
tell the truth,” he said, “I’m not 
too sure myself. But — well — maybe 
I’d better lead up to it gradually. 
Because this is perhaps the greatest 
moment in the history of the Solar 
System.” 

“I should think the first visit 
from outside would be,” Henry’s 
voice fell as low as Thornton’s in 
the awe of that instant. His eyes 
dropped from the bitter white blaze 
of stars spilling across the sky, 
down to the wavering, pulsing 
signal on the oscilloscope. For a 
moment, it seemed to be tracing 
cabalistic signs, hieroglyphs of some 
unknown unhuman language whis- 
pered across the universe. Outside, 
outside, the terror of utter empti- 
ness and strangeness, twenty-odd 
trillion miles of cold and dark and 
vacuum to the next nearest sun — 
fear clutched at him and his big 
work-scarred hands gripped futilely 
against the arms of his chair. 

And he was here on the very 
borders of that infinity, with Sol 
no more than the brightest of that 
arrognt host of stars, too remote 
from the next nearest humanity for 
rendezvous with the unknown pow- 
a feeble radio voice — cut off, alone 
against the universe, sweeping to a 
rendezvous with the unknown pow- 
ers of Outside. 

Well — he gathered himself, raised 
a wall of solid practicality between 
himself and the blind terror of in- 
finity, and let the muscles loosen 
in his arms and belly and heavy 
shoulders. His broad blunt face 
turned to challenge Thornton’s gray 
eyes, and his voice lashed savagely 
at the almost religious ecstasy in 
the other man. That was no mood in 
which to face the cosmos — damn it — 
that thing out there was from far 
away but it wasn’t from beyond 
death, a man could handle it. 
“Obviously,” he said, “the Insti- 



tute was expecting this ship. Has 
been expecting it for years, in fact, 
and hiring merchant craft to patrol 
outer space, to meet it when it 
came. But the government don’t 
know about it — I checked on that, 
when you approached me with your 
contract, and they said as far as 
they knew you were only after relics 
of the old Martian space traffic. 
Which didn’t make too much sense 
to me, but it seemed an easy way to 
make money. But — you must’ve had 
powerful backing, to hire that many 
ships and men. Somebody big was 
behind you. And what I want to 
know now is — ^who?” 

“The Institute is an old and well- 
established organization, with ade- 
quate resources,” said Thornton 
coldly. “I don’t mind adding that 
certain of its members are wealthy 
and subscribed large amounts of 
money for this project. But I am 
not required to say more.” 

“Oh, yes, you are; I’m captain 
here—” 

“Your contract — ” 

“I know space law as well as you 
do. Dr. Thornton. Maybe a little 
better.” Henry grinned mirthlessly, 
a white gleam of teeth in the dark- 
ness of his features. “I had quite 
a few contacts with it, while I was 
fighting up through the ranks. And 
in an emergency, the captain is cap- 
tain; contracts don’t count.” 

EEING the archeologist’s hos- 
tile stiffening, he went on rap- 
idly, “I am not unreasonable. Dr. 
Thornton. I’m glad to cooperate 
with any legitimate and sane under- 
taking. But I must know what it is 
first.” 

“I did not intend to conceal it 
from you,” said Thornton. It was 
plain he would much have preferred 
to sit in rapt contemplation of this 
great moment. “The Institute, 
through its researches on Mars, has 
come into the possession of certain 
knowledge so important that the fu- > 
ture of the Solar System may de- 
pend on it — knowledge far too great 
to be trusted to the militaristic mor- 
ons who run the government of 
Earth. Accordingly, we have chosen 




68 



FUTURE combined with SCIENCE FICTION STORIES 



to act privately, meet this ship as 
individuals rather than regulation- 
bound representatives of official- 
dom, and base future action on the 
result of that meeting. To put it 
briefly — ” 

The meteor alarm buzzed. After 
a second, the buzz changed to the 
high-pitched whine which meant 
that the object detected was proba- 
bly a ship. 

Thornton’s voice trailed off into 
blankness. Henry leaned forward 
over the instruments, reading, com- 
puting. There was ^ilence on the 
bridge, a taut quivering silence in 
which the noise of engines and air 
circulators were meaningless vacuum 
behind that drumhead skin of quiet. 
Outside, the Milky Way gleamed 
frostily around the arc of the heav- 
ens. 

When Henry looked up, his face 
was as if cast in dark iron, and his 
voice was cold and colorless: “An- 
other ship, on an accelerated path 
which should intersect ours about 
the same time as we meet the out- 
sider. Only — this one’s moving in the 
ecliptic plane too, from Sunward. 
Did you have anyone set to meet 
us, Thornton?’’ 

“No,” whispered the archeologist. 
“No one.” 

“It’s Solar, all right,” nodded 
Henry grimly, “and I’m pretty damn 
sure that if it isn’t one of yours it 
won’t be Terrestrial at all. 

“Which means — Venusian!” 

2 

W HEN THE frantic scurry- 
ing and preparing were 
over and the Bolivar was 
crouched into alertness, a bleak 
waiting for the slow hours to end 
and the inevitable meeting to take 
place, Henry found himself alone 
on the bridge with Thornton. There 
was little for anyone to do while 
the many miles were devoured. Ei- 
senberg had gone down to the en- 
gine room to make certain prepara- 
tions with Olsen, and only the cap- 
tain and the passenger sat looking 
out at the stars now. 



“Oh, luck, luck, luck.” A torment- 
ed bitterness rode Thornton’s voice. 
His eyes were desperate “That this 
should happen, in the greatest mo- 
ment of history — that man’s last 
chance for sanity should be lost by 
blind accident — ” 

“I wonder just how accidental,” 
murmured Henry, studying the flick- 
ering oscillograph. “A Venusian 
wouldn’t just happen by; space is 
too big. I have a hunch that he was 
waiting, too.” 

“He couldn’t have been! No one, 
no one in the Solar System knew 
this except for a select group with- 
in the Institute and a few other 
scientists whom we could trust.” 

“Well — you still haven’t told me 
what this mysterious ‘it’ is, Thorn- 
ton,” said Henry. “I’m waiting.” 

“I — well — ” The archeologist fum- 
bled with a cigaret, groping for 
words. “It’s a very long story. It 
goes back ten thousand years, really, 
to the last dying Martians. But it 
was Blakiston who found the rec- 
ord, ten years ago... Have .you ever 
been on Mars, Captain Henry?” At 
the spaceman’s disgusted scowl, he 
added hastily, “Of course you have. 
But I don’t mean Aresport or Dry- 
gulch or any of the other new colo- 
nies, Terrestrial or Venusian. They 
aren’t Mars. The planet — its soul 
is out in the deserts, in the ruins 
and the graves and the inscriptions. 
Have you ever visited them?” 

“A little.” 

Henry remembered those trips, 
over the rusty desolation of a dead 
world, to the huge silence of those 
incredible works. Some said that the 
golden age of Mars had been a hun- 
dred thousand years ago. For a thou- 
sand centuries, those lovely fluted 
columns had stood under the dark 
greenish sky; for a thousand cen- 
turies wind and sand and the slow 
rusting out of the planet’s heart had 
eaten at them, and still they seemed 
almost alive. He remembered the 
vivid murals, the vaulted temple 
choked with blowing sand, the ex- 
quisite fragment of a golden brooch 
worn thin as paper by erosion... 
and now there were only the desert 
and the tumbled ruins and the 



THE LONG RETURN 



69 



strange light-boned skeletons. . .yes, 
he remembered! 

"The last Martians must have died 
ten thousand years or so ago,” said 
Thornton. “It was too much for 
them. For millennia they had been 
fighting a losing way with the dry- 
ing and cooling of their world, the 
exhaustion of the soil, the attenua- 
tion of the atmosphere, the whole 
despair and hopelessness of it. Their 
once-mighty civilization was crum- 
bled to savagery, only a few refuges 
remained for the ancient learning. . . 
But to the end, they had a few 
spaceships. They must have visited 
neolithic Earth and Venus, seen how 
unexpectedly rapid progress was. 
You do know that there was a great 
burst of inventiveness on both 
planets about that time, such fun- 
damental inventions as the ship and 
the wheel being produced — ” 

“I know it now,” said Henry. 

“The Martians guessed that per- 
haps these seemingly inferior life- 
forms were actually their betters in 
inherent skill. After all, the Martian 
race was not technologically in- 
clined. Their science was so great, 
greater even than ours today, simply 
because their culture was so enor- 
mously older. Anyway, those last 
Martian visitors must have foreseen 
that Earth and Venus would be trav- 
eling between the planets, perhaps 
even before the — the event which is 
now on us. So — they left word for 
us. 

“You know of the New Karnak 
Stones?” 

“Ummm — yeah, a little. Found 
about fifty years ago, weren’t they? 
Held the key to the Martian writ- 
ten language — ” 

“That’s right. A key obviously de- 
signed for alien philologists. It 
started with a purely ideographic 
script, v/hich can be deciphered. 
Then it gave the equivalents in the 
regular Martian alphabet. It took 
years of work, on the part of Le- 
Clerc and others, but the riddle was 
finally solved. Today, those who 
care to learn can read the old Mar- 
tian writings. In fact, thanks to the 
alphabet’s being phonetic, they can 
speak the language!” 



“So—?” 

“It was an immense help to arche- 
ology, of course, and until Blakis- 
ton’s find ten years ago it was 
thought that the Martians had left 
that key simply as an altruistic ges- 
ture, or perhaps to save the memory 
of their race frown total oblivion. 
But then, in the ruins of one of 
those last civilized communities, he 
found the inscription which revealed 
their true purpose.” 

H enry remained silent. The 
ship whispered around them, 
driving through a night of bitter 
stars. 

“It was an appeal,” said Thorn- 
ton softly. “I won’t quote the whole 
of it — it was very long — ^but it said 
in part; We have seen the races *>/ 
the inner planets rising, more swift- 
ly than we ever thought possible, 
and have stood dumb before their 
supreme skill in mastering the world 
about them. They have done in cen- 
turies what took the folk of Mars 
thousands of years. Yet they are 
young, these races, young; they will 
grasp the powers of gods with the 
hands of children, and we have stood 
appalled before their utter savagery 
and heedlessness. They are hard arid 
cruel and reckless. They have it in 
them to conquer the stars — but will 
they ever conquer themselves? 

“Yet there are wise ones among 
them, beings with the slow deep pa- 
tience of the thinker, dreamers who 
know that murder breeds its like 
and that in the end only the mind 
and the soul can bring peace to the 
body. Only that breed will have the 
patience to learn our language, so 
foreign to them. Only these few will 
be able to read this last message. 
And — we pray that they will have 
the sense to keep the secret, to use 
it as they see fit — for only they 
know what is for the best. 

“Into your hands, stranger from a 
strange world, we give the future.” 
Henry said nothing. He fiddled 
with his pipe, embarrassed by the 
emotion that quivered in Thornton’s 
voice. 

The archeologist looked at him for 



70 



FUTURE combined wUh SCtElVCE FtCTiON STORMES 



a long moment. Then he sighed, 
wearily, and said: “The inscription 
told the story of what had happened 
some five thousand years earlier. At 
that time, Martian civilization was 
declining, but still not too far from 
its peak. They knew what was com- 
ing. They could see the slow plane- 
tary death awaiting them. There was 
no other planet in the Solar System 
to which they could hope to move, 
and, lacking as I said the essentially 
dynamic attitude of Earthly tech- 
nology, they did not have much hope 
of saving the home world. But they 
had to save the race. 

“You can guess what happened. 
They built three giant spaceships, 
the greatest ships that history had 
ever seen, and they loaded them 
with colonists and supplies, and 
sent them blindly out among the 
stars to look for a new planet.” 

M ENRY nodded, slowly, slow- 
ly. He had been expecting the 
revelation. He looked down to the 
signal pulsing on the oscilloscope, 
and out to the swarming blazing 
stars, and sought one mote of thin 
light among them. “The Martians 
are coming back.” 

“Aye.” Thornton nodded. “The 
colonists were to go out in these 
mighty ships, traveling very nearly 
at the speed of light, and look for 
a world like Mars, but one younger, 
more habitable. They would never 
come back. It would not be practica- 
ble to ferry immigrants from Sol — 
besides, all the energies of the race 
would be needed for the gigantic 
attempt, which might after all suc- 
ceed, to rebuild at home. But this 
fragment of the species would cer- 
tainly be saved. 

“And it was agreed that they 
would send an expedition which was 
to arrive at a certain time, some fif- 
teen thousand Terrestrial years after 
the emigrants had departed.” 

Henry v/histled. ‘“Fifteen thou- 
sand years! Tha't’s a hell of a long 
time !” 

“Yes. But after all, it would take 
them an enormous time to find a 
world. It had to be definitely safe, 
definitely habitable. And, Martian 



morality being as high as it was, 
there could be no indigenous race 
which would have to be ousted. Once 
such a planet had been found and 
settled, it would take time for the 
colony to become established, time 
for its population to grow so far 
that there was no doubt of the spe- 
cies’ having survived beyond all 
chance of random extinction. And 
then there would be the trip back 
itself, which might take centuries 
of time as measured outside the ship. 

“And, too, the Martians had a 
different attitude toward time from 
curs. Their civilization was already 
ai least half a million years old, and 
it was more stable than ours; it 
lacked our frantic desire and need 
for change. Progress was slow, very 
slow. . . In fact, the Martian mental- 
ity is so alien to ours that even I, 
who have spent my life studying 
it, know only how far I am from un- 
derstanding. 

“In any case, the Martians were 
to return at about this time. To re- 
turn to their old home, their own 
people — or to the graves of their 
race. To return with all the powers 
of a science already beyond ours, a 
science that has since had fifteen 
thousand years to grow. But — those 
Martians will not be expecting to 
find Earth and Venus ruling the 
Solar System. They’ll look for us 
still to be savages. As we are. Cap- 
tain Henry, as we are — but mecha- 
nized savages, immensely dangerous 
barbarians. 

“And how the Martians will react 
— now — only God knows.” 

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” 
Henry's eyes were incredulous, 
searching 'Thornton’s in bafflement, 
fear, and a dawning rage. “You kept 
it secret?” 

“As the Martians asked,” said 
Thornton quietly; “it was their last 
appeal, and we have heeded it. 

“Just suppose they were to be met 
by the fleet of battleships Earth 
would send out if its government 
knew. They would be frightened, 
suspicious, ready to fight or flee. 
Then some pompous red-necked ad- 
miral would tell them that Mars was 
now a colony of Earth, in spite of 



THE LONG RETURN 



M 



claims by those damned Venusians, 
and that the ruins of the Sun Pyra- 
mid had been leveled to build a rock- 
et port. He would welcome them to 
the Solar System they once ruled, 
and would ask them please to come 
aboard so a Terrestrial prize crew 
could take their ship to Luna Base. 
He would demand from them all 
their knowledge, to be used in mur- 
dering Venusians, and would threat- 
en them with prison or hypnoquiz- 
zing when they refused. He would 
speak of human destiny among the 
stars, an Empire of Sol including, 
perhaps, the Martians’ new planet — 
“The militarists would degrade 
this discovery as they have perverted 
the atom and the spaceship and the 
electronic brain. Or else — they would 
fail ; they would provoke the Mar- 
tians into unleashing all their fan- 
tastic arsenal on us — or simply into 
leaving the System, leaving us to 
our one little sun and the darkness 
of our own ignorance and cruelty. 

“No, Henry — we decided long ago 
that the Martians must be met by 
that breed of men to whom they had 
appealed, by scientists and philoso- 
phers, by men who believe that vio- 
lence is not an answer to anything 
Men who could explain to them how 
the situation was, appeal to them for 
help — get their knowledge and wis- 
dom and pov/er to end this miserable 
struggle with Venus in a peace just 
to both planets. It is the only way.” 
Henry stirred restlessly. His wide 
mouth curled. “So — you’re a paci- 
fist,” he said slowly. 

“Yes. And I am proud of it.” 

“It’s your right to be, I suppose; 
but I’ve known too many men and 
Venusians who needed killing.” 
“The sort of attitude I would 
have expected from you.” 

“Anyway,” said Henry bitterly, 
“your wonderful scientific clever- 
ness hasn’t had much more result 
than throwing us against a probably 
more powerful Venusian ship which 
now has a chance to take over both 
us and the Martians. I can see the 
Venusian fleet over our cities 
now. Tell me. Dr. Pacifist Thorn- 
ton, is a Venusian navy man less 
militaristic than your red-necked 



Earthling? Or maybe you’ve never 
seen a Venusian torture ceremony?* 

3 

T he ship was visible to the 
naked eye now, frighteningly 
visible against the cloudy 
glory of the Milky Way, and radio 
beams were hunting up and down 
the spectrum in frantic search of a 
voice. 

A voice, a face, a flicker of rec- 
ognition out of the dark and silence 
of fifteen thousand years — but the 
ship was silent. The Martians were 
silent. 

Henry’s eyes roved from the ship 
to his instruments and back again, 
prowling a path of numbed fascina- 
tion. Ye gods, it must be huge! A 
five-mile cylinder, a mile in diam- 
eter, sheening faint gold in the dim 
bitter light of stars and nebulae and 
the far tiny sun, wrapped in some in- 
explicable halo of vague blue shim- 
mer, it held otherness in its every 
line and curve and sweep of incred- 
ible mass. A tingle of fear shivered 
along his spine, he felt a crawling 
germ of panic in the face of the 
utterly unknown stir within him and 
throttled it fiercely. 

Thornton gave him a cold look. 
“You’re afraid,” he said. 

“I — don’t entirely like it,” admitted 
Henry slowly. “The powers they may 
have — ” 

“You’re afraid. You’re afraid of 
the new and strange and wonderful. 
You’re attributing our own childish 
murderousness to them, and so you 
fear them. When you could meet 
them as a friend !” 

“I wonder. . . But one thing’s for 
damn sure; we aren’t going to meet 
that Venusian as any friend. It’ll be 
here inside half an hour, and there 
isn’t much we can do about it.” The 
Bolivar shuddered in another rocket 
blast, groaning with the strain of 
matching velocity to the Martian. 
The two vessels sped on parallel 
Sunward tracks, a hundred miles 
apart, and the Bolivar’s radio beams 
flickered and questioned and waited 
for a reply out of humming silence. 
“Strange — ” Henry looked at bis 



72 



FVTVRE combineol with SCiENCE FICTiON STORIES 



instruments, got out his slide rule 
and nodded at the answer. “That 
thing has a fantastic mass. But — for 
its size, fantastically low. Damn it. 
unless my gravito-meter and slip 
stick are both liars, that big hull 
must be over ninety percent empty !” 
“Perhaps — ” Thornton’s guess was 
not completed. There was a buzz 
from the ship’s main televisor — a 
call on the standard FM band. For a 
moment the two men were galvanized 
with an incredible hope, but it faded 
as Henry shook his head and opened 
the receiving channel. 

“Could only be the Venusian,” he 
said. 

T he screen flickered to life 
with a face that bore out his 
statement. For a moment Thornton’s 
attention was held by the gaudy uni- 
form covering the big green-skinned 
body: the elaborate dazzle of gold 
and jewelry; even the anachronism 
of a long, curved sword. He remem- 
bered that the Venusians had been 
behind Earth, technologically and 
socially, when the first visits were 
made. They had caught up in 
scientific achievement with an almost 
frightening speed, driven perhaps by 
some desire to prove their own supe- 
riority to the strangers from beyond 
the sky; but their society was still 
almost feudal, dominated by the 
great aristocratic families and a tra- 
dition regulating even the smallest 
details of life. 

But there was nothing stupid or 
ignorant about the lean hairless fea- 
tures and the arrogant dark eyes that 
looked into theirs. Save for the bony 
crest on the bald skull, and the green 
skin and lack of external ears, it 
could have been the face of some 
Terrestrial leader, shrewd and strong 
and ruthless. 

He spoke in the near-perfect 
English which was required knowl- 
edge for all Venusian officers: “Im- 
perial Zamandarian cruiser 
Xiucuayotl, Commander Uincozuma 
speaking, calling Terrestrial space- 
ship Bolivar” 

“Terrestrial spaceship Bolivar, 
Captain Henry speaking,” replied the 
man automatically, and then in sud- 



den realization: “You — know whaf 
ship this is!” 

“Of course.” The Venusian’s face 
split in a steely smile. “The intel- 
ligence services of Zamandar are not 
staffed by utter fools. Captain 
Henry. When we learned that an 
ostensibly private organization was 
maintaining a costly patrol in outer 
space, it was only natural to assume 
that those ships would bear watch- 

“But — ” Thornton came forth into 
the scanner area. “But — a private 
archeological research project — ” 

"Surely your government did not 
expect anyone on Zamandar to be- 
lieve such a feeble story,” said 
Uincozuma contemptuously. 

Henry smiled thinly at Thornton. 
"You’ll never change his conviction,” 
he said. “A planet where everything 
is controlled by a ruling class, among 
which intrigue is the normal order of 
things, would never take a statement 
such as that at face value. So it 
seems that regardless of your desire 
to meet — them — unofficially, we’ll 
still have to represent all Earth I” 

“And now — ” Uincozuma leaned 
forward until his stiff countenance 
seemed to project from the screen, 
his strong presence to fill the 
bridge — “now. Captain Henry and 
gentlemen, what is the identity of 
that ship? Where is it from? How 
did you know when it was due — or 
even that it was coming at all?” 

“Our secret — ” began Thornton. 

“Nonsense!” The metal voice shiv- 
ered in the telescreen with its vio- 
lence. “You are a merchant ship, 
feebly armed at best and manned by 
civilians. This is a cruiser of the 
Imperial navy. Conduct yourselves 
accordingly. 

“If necessary, I will not hesitate 
to blow you out of the sky and deal 
directly with the stranger. But — ” 

The screen flickered and buzzed 
with interference. The excited voice 
of the Bolivar’s radioman came over 
the intercom: “Sir, there’s another 
signal. The strange ship is calling 
us — ” 

“At last!" Thornton gasped the 
words, and Henry saw the hope in 
his eyes. Perhaps even now — 



THE LONG RETURN 



n 



Uincozuma smiled, grimly. “This 
should be an interesting conversa- 
tion,” he said. “You might as well 
arrange for a three-way hookup. 
Captain Henry. I’ll be listening any- 
way.”* 

Thornton laughed, shakily. “Go 
ahead,” he challenged, “and may you 
get joy of it.” 

Henry brought the auxiliary tele- 
screen around in such a manner that 
it scanned the Bolivar’s bridge, in- 
cluding the main screen with 
Uincozuma’s face. His hand shook a 
little as he turned it on. After fif- 
teen thousand years — 

T he face grew into the screen, 
and he knew that it was Martian. 
It was the face that had looked out 
of the old murals in New Thebes 
one unforgotten day when he had 
been there. Henry remembered the 
faint chill he had felt then as he 
comprehended the age of that painted 
face, for fifty thousand years the 
painter had been dust and still those 
strange golden eyes had looked out 
over the iron deserts and watched a 
planet die. And now, before him, it 
was the same undying countenance, 
beautiful and ageless and unhuman, 
and its blind stare had become fierce 
and alive, and it spoke to him. 

It was an avian face, with a long 
curved beak reaching out from the 
narrow skull, a long slim neck down 
to the half manlike body which sat 
wrapped in a red cloak. A smooth 
white coat of feathers covered the 
Martian, flaring into a shining blue 
crest on his head — the whole being, 
face and body, had a stark simplicity 
which was somehow utterly awesome 
and beautiful. It was the eyes that 
held him most, the great golden eyes 
v/ith fire smoldering and swirling 
behind them, he could not meet that 
terrible gaze for long at a time. 

He thought, briefly, of the unbe- 
lievable ages of civilization behind 
that being, of a journey across a 
waste of light-years to find an empty 
planet and back to find the homeland, 
of powers and wisdom beyond his 
guessing — and it seemed only right 
that this one who faced him should 



be thus. He imagined, vaguely, that a 
god might look something like that. 

Uincozuma’s amazed oaths faded 
into silence, and the Venusian re- 
gained the aristocrat’s iron self-pos- 
session. Glancing at him, Henry could 
almost see the brain whirring at top 
speed behind that impassive visage. 
The nobles of Zamanda* could be 
disturbingly keen — and Uincozuma 
commanded an armed cruiser. 

His attention turned back to 
Thornton. The archeologist was 
crouched before the screen, tensed 
to the breaking point, and a devour- 
ing ecstasy lit his whole being. This 
was the culmination of ten years’ 
work and waiting and hope; he faced 
the stranger from the stars and it 
was now he who might carry destiny. 
It was almost a religious feeling, and 
Henry scowled. His own hard practi- 
cality was returning to the space- 
man; mysticism was no attitude just 
now. 

The Martian spoke, a rippling, 
clicking flow of syllables, like a 
brook running over stones, with here 
and there a guttural singing or a 
high thin whistle, the language of 
birds. Thornton nodded. “It’s the old 
language,” he said. “The crew of this 
ship learned it, as a tongue they 
would have in common with Mars — 
or more likely the colonists never 
abandoned it. It’s a perfect language, 
in its way — ” 

He answered the Martian, slowly, 
shaping his tongue and throat to 
sounds never meant for human utter- 
ance. Briefly the Martian started, ob- 
viously amazed, and then lapsed into 
his statuesque immobility, the quiet 
of an eagle on its perch. 

Henry could not even distinguish 
many of the sounds, but he could 
guess at what was said. Welcome, 
welcome back to the Solar System. 

You are not — of our race. 

No, we are of the inner planets, we 
are younger than you. Your own 
world died long ago, long ago, your 
people are dust on the lonely desert 
wind, you have had your long jour- 
ney across space for nothing — but 
welcome, welcome home! 

“Henry. Captain Henry.” 



74 



FUTURE combined with SCiESCE FiCTtON STORiES 



T he spaceman turned at the 
voice, to meet Uincozuma’s bleak 
gaze. “There is no longer any need 
for you to attempt concealment,” 
said the Venusian. “It is perfectly 
obvious what happened. The dying 
Martians sent out a few colonists to 
some otiier star. Their descendants 
were to return at a certain time, and 
your archeological society found the 
records telling of that return. So you 
kept it secret, meaning to deal with 
the Martians for the benefit of Earth. 
But I am h ;re now ; I can deal too.” 
“Without speaking their lan- 
guage?” jeered Henry. 

“There ar^ other ways. Let the 
Martians but come to Venus, and we 
have our own scientists who can talk 
to them.” 

“But not out here !" 

“No. However — the Martians will 
certainly try to communicate with 
me, somehow, as well as with you. 
After all — your race is just as 
foreign to them as mine. If every- 
thing else fails — I still command a 
warship !” 

Henry looked out the port. The 
Xiucuay'Otl was visible to the naked 
eye now, a thin metal sliver splash- 
ing bright flames of rocket jets 
across the sky. He had seen the 
sleek deadly vessels of her class at 
close range, he knew how hopelessly 
more powerful she was *than the 
Bolivar. If Uincozuma could deal di- 
rectly with the Martians, even if the 
Martian ship stayed neutral in any 
battle, the Earthlings might as well 
not be here. 

If on the other hand tht Martians 
could be persuaded to side v-dth the 
Bolivar, their own immense pov/ers — 
But did they have any? That monster 
craft didn’t look like a warship — any- 
way, according to Thornton they 
hadn’t come expecting to find the 
younger races advanced beyond a 
barbaric state. Even if the Xiucuayotl 
had to fight the Martian vessel, she 
might still be the winner, Uincozuma 
might still take his prize and his 
captives back to Venus. 

And the Martian technology — oh, 
God, what must they not know 1 
Even back in that age when they 
were still in the System, they had 



known things at which modern 
science only guessed. The records 
told of disintegrant beams, control 
of gravity, chain reactions which 
could wrap a whole planet in flame. 
Not enough apparatus had survived 
to teach latter-day science much — 
and if now that power were thrown 
into the balance — 




^■■■^HORNTON turned back to 
S face Henry and the image of 
JBl Uincozuma. “He wants to talk 
to all three of us,” said the archeolo- 
gist. “He wants me to interpret. I’ll 
do it, of course — whatever is said.” 
His eyes challenged both the cap- 
tains. 

“Good,” said the Venusian. “Bid 
him welcome in the name of Imperial 
Zamandar — ” 

“I took that for granted,” said 
Thornton dryly. 

“ — and ask him who he is and what 
his errand, that we may best assist 
him,” finished Uincozuma smoothly. 

“He has already told me. As near- 
ly as I can render the names, he is 
Herakon, phryon — that’s only ap- 
proximately equivalent to ‘captain’ — 
of the ship Delphis from the planet 
Kiarios. And, of course, he is here 
with his fellows on the long-planned 
visit to the Solar System. They are 
peaceful scientists and ‘other citi- 
zens’ — whatever that phrase means — 
who desired only to make contact 
with their fellow Martians or, since 
these are no longer living, to visit 
their graves and get some relics for 
the new world.” Thornton frowned 
a little. “By all we know of Mars, 
from the records, the race has always 
had an extremely devout regard for 
the past and its physical remains. 
They may not like the fact that we — 
Earth and Venus — have left the ruins 
unrestored, and removed much of the 
old works and even bones to our 
museums, and built blatant new 
structures all over the old deserts.” 

“How could two young races be 
expected — dead aliens — ” Henry 
caught his temper. This was no time 
to jet off; now, if ever, the desperate 



THE LONG RETURN 



K 



need was for cool and careful and 
hard-boiled thinking. With the Mar- 
tians, of Lord knew what powers 
and intentions, and the Venusians, 
whose strength and purpose were all 
too plain, catastrophe loomed for all 
Earth unless — 

Thornton gave him a cold look. ‘T 
daresay the Martians will allow for 
the immaturity of our races,” he said. 
“But sometimes it is necessary to 
punish children.” 

“Damn it, man, it isn’t right to try 
and look at your own race from out- 
side that way. It’s Earth — man- 
kind—” 

“The usual slogans by which the 
militarists gain the witless allegiance 
of fools. I did not choose my race, 
Captain Henry, but I did choose my 
allegiance — to the ideals of peace 
and sanity. If, as I think, the Mar- 
tians are closer than Earth or Venus 
to those ideals, then the Martians 
are my people.” 

Henry half opened his mouth, and 
snapped it shut again. You couldn’t 
argue with a fanatic, and they need- 
ed Thornton. As long as he was the 
only one who could talk to the Mar- 
tians, they needed him. 

The archeologist was conversing 
with Herakon again. Henry turned 
away from the flow of unhuman syl- 
lables with something of a shudder. 
It was almost with a feeling of re- 
lief that he faced Uincozuma’s cold 
strength and the understandable 
problem that the Venusian represent- 
ed. “What ’re we to do?” he asked. 

T here was a certain sympathy, 
but no comfort, in the steely re- 
ply : “Whatever circumstances dic- 
tate. In a way, it simplifies matters 
that your archeologist is on the 
Martian side — assuming that they 
want him! Otherwise, the best thing 
might have been for me to destroy 
your ship and try to get the Martians 
to accompany me — they would under- 
stand some sort of sign language or 
picture writing, I suppose. But as it 
is — we shall see.” 

“We both represent Sol in a way, 
Uincozuma. Couldn’t we make some 
kind of working truce to deal with 
these strangers? They aren’t really 



Solarian any longer. Their real in- 
terests lie in whatever new system 
they inhabit.” 

“Earth and Venus can only agree 
against Kiarios if it proves equally 
hostile to both. But if there is any 
faintest chance that the Martians — 
Kiarians, if you like — can be persuad- 
ed to help either of our planets — If 
only to the extent of giving us any 
of their scientific knowledge — then, 
of course, it is my duty to see that 
Venus gets that help. If the Martians 
want to help you, I shall have to de- 
stroy you and try to destroy or cap- 
ture them — at the very least, destroy 
you and run Sunward till I can get 
in radio range and call the Imperial 
fleet to my aid. If on the other hand 
the Martians choose to help me — 
why, then I must capture or destroy 
you anyway, to keep you frc«n car- 
rying the news back to Earth.” There 
was no personal hostility in the cool 
statement, but neither was there any 
pity. Mercy was no consideration 
whatever with the Venusian aristoc- 
racy. 

Henry turned to Thornton. “You 
see,” he began angrily, “that’s the 
sort of thing the ‘red-necked admi- 
rals’ you despise are protecting us 
against. If it weren’t for our ‘mili- 
taristic morons’. Earthlings would 
have been serfs to Venusian over- 
lords twenty years ago. If you can 
wrap yourself in your own smug vir- 
tuousness and let that sort of thing 
happen to men and women and chil- 
dren who never gave anyone any of- 
fense — ” 

“How about Venusian males and 
females and young?” snapped the 
scientist. “They weren’t hurting any- 
one either, but they’ve died in the 
‘border incidents’; they don’t want 
to knuckle under to our military 
commanders and plantation owners 
any more than we want — Oh, shut 
up, anyway.” He turned back to 
Herakon. The Martian sat wrapped 
in his cloak of silence, ■watching 
them. Henry thought of old, vague- 
ly remembered myths, Osiris weigh- 
ing the hearts of the dead in the 
Hall of Judgement. And what was 
the Martian thinking now behind 
those eyes of molten gold? 



76 



FUTURE combined with SCiENCE FICTION STORIES 



He grew aware that Herakon was 
talking again and that Thornton was 
translating into English, almost un- 
consciously, as an aid in guiding his 
own mind through the intricacies of 
the ancient language. He listened, 
and Uincozuma listened, and save 
for that lilting, fluting flow of un- 
human words and the low-voiced, 
stumbling human tongue, there was 
silence on the bridge, the silence of 
space. 

“ — far and far they went, ever 
seeking, and suns bloomed out of the 
great dark and faded behind them, 
and never was there the world they 
sought. Many and strange were the 
planets they left behind them, much 
did they see and learn in those cen- 
turies, but home became a myth to 
them, a hopeless racial dream. A few, 
a very few planets they found which 
were as their longings, but these all 
bore intelligent life of their own, 
and our ancestors would no more 
than we displace the rightful owners 
of a land were that the Lost Country 
itself.” 

“And you never fought a war?” 
asked Uincozuma softly. Thornton 
scowled, but put the question into 
Martian. The great beaked head nod- 
ded, slowly, 

“Twice have we fought, in all the 
long time since Mars was young. 
Once on our way between the stars, 
we found a system wherein were 
three races, and one of these was 
utterly evil. It was a race of carni- 
vores which had murder in their 
hearts as an instinct; they had 
fought each other in devastating 
wars, driven by what seemed a need 
of combat, until they reached the 
other planets. Then they forgot their 
quarrels in the rush on their de- 
fenseless neighbors. One race they 
had enslaved, when our ancestors ar- 
rived, and the other they had con- 
demned to death because it would 
not yield; only a few gallant rem- 
nants of it fought on. Our ancestors 
recoiled in horror, but they had a 
plain duty. The surgeon does not 
hesitate to destroy a billion lives of 
disease germs to save the life of one 
intelligent being. They used their 
knowledge and the world-smashing 



power of their ships to help the two 
attacked races, and they wiped out 
every last one of the enemy species 
before leaving that system. It was a 
hard and cruel thing to do, but the 
universe is a cleaner place for it. 

“Then once again we fought, some 
centuries after the landing on 
Kiarios, when the natives of another 
star came conquering. These were not 
so evil as the earlier aggressors, but 
they were dangerous and they 
wrought great damage ere we mobil- 
ized our powers. Here again we re- 
solved on extermination, simply as a 
safeguard for the future.” The metal- 
lic yellow eyes blazed with cold 
pride. “No race has a right to pick a 
fight, but it has a right to guard it- 
self against potential wars by the 
most appropriate means. Kiarios sent 
a fleet to the enemy’s home planet 
and unleashed the atomic fire. That 
world will still be a white blaze a 
hundred thousand years from today. 
It will be a beacon warning the war- 
makers in the cosmos to let Kiarios 
be !” 

T he MARTIAN made an impe- 
rious gesture with one clawlike 
hand, and a blank stillness descended. 
Henry fought for control. Fear, it 
was fear that crawled along his spine 
and shrieked in his brain, a fear less 
of personal death than of the extinc- 
tion of all which had made him, the 
death of Earth and mankind. Earth, 
Earth, the blue skies and the rolling 
hills and the broad wild seas — was 
Earth to stand in one lurid blaze be- 
cause the Martians decided that 
Earthlings were evil? 

We are, in a way. Both we and 
Venus have sinned beyond redemp- 
tion by Martian standards in our 
siJIy, bloody wars, in our childish 
grasping for political and economic 
power, in the — simply in the poten- 
tial menace to Kiarios which we rep- 
resent. The Martians are not aggres- 
sive like us, but they are utterly 
ruthless. To safeguard themselves, or 
even to vindicate an abstract moral 
principle, they would not hesitate to 
blow up the Sun. 

Herakon was speaking again, in 
answer to some question of Thorn- 



THE LONG RETURN 



77 



ton’s; "Aye, we found our world at 
last, and it was worth every second 
of the bitter, weary centuries, it was 
like Mars come young again, green 
and fair and alive, with seas that 
sparkled in the sun and mountains 
that reached for the sky. And no 
strangers walked over the wide 
windy plains or flew through the 
fair skies, it was a lonely world — it 
was our own. We had come home. 

“So we landed on Kiarios, strange 
planet of a strange sun five hundred 
light-years from Sol, and the wander- 
ers— or their children or grandchil- 
dren — felt it was more their home 
than the barren deserts of Mars had 
ever been. And that was more than 
thirteen thousand years ago, and 
they have been there ever since. 

“It was hard at first, bitterly hard. 
Our species is not by nature given to 
pioneering, physical or technologi- 
cal ; only in art and philosophy do we 
feel free to make the great bold ad- 
vances which are the justification of 
intelligence. But we have, at least, 
the will and the strength to survive. 

“And over the centuries we built 
out culture anew, and slowly we even 
learned what our ancestors had not 
known, and we perfected ourselves 
and our achievements. Today we 
hold the system of Kiarios in a per- 
fectly balanced civilization. Noth- 
ing can ever go wrong internally; we 
can endure forever, and in our own 
way we are happy.’’ 

(Thornton raised a puzzled face. “I 
can’t quite translate that,’’ he whis- 
pered. “That phrase — well, it doesn’t 
really mean ‘happy’ or ‘contented’ or 
‘successful’ or any other state that 
might make sense to an Earthling or 
a Venusian. It means the Martian 
equivalent, but that is something un- 
imaginable to us, a state which is, in 
its own way, dynamic — but wait.” He 
turned back to the speaking Mar- 
tian.) 

f ll^ERAKON continued. “But there 
M. was an ancient promise made, 
and it had to be fulfilled. The com- 
pletion of our task required a full 
cycle, a return to the descendants of 
our ancestors — or their graves. A 
young race, which has not that feel- 



ing of kinship with an immense and 
overwhelmingly great past, cannot 
realize what a basic need that is. 
And so this ship came back; for five 
hundred years it traveled at nearly 
the speed of light, and it will be five 
hundred years again in getting back. 
We will only have lived a hundred 
years inside the ship, because of the 
relativistic time-shift, but even that 
is long, long — and a thousand years 
will have gone by when we re- 
turn ...” For an instant, Henry 
caught the note of utter longing in 
the Martian’s voice, and he knew that 
he himself would never have had the 
courage to attempt that dreadful 
journey. “Even for a race as long- 
lived as ours, a hundred years is 
long, and a thousand years longer. 
We can never really return. The 
civilization of Kiarios will still be 
there, unchanged, but all that we 
knew, all our friends and kin and 
etai (“I can’t translate that,” said 
Thornton) will be in the tombs, and 
we will live alone.” The head lifted 
again, the eyes blazed with the old 
iron pride that had carried the race 
across space and time and conquered 
a planet’s death to do it. “But the 
blood of Mars will live ! The race 
will have been to its ancestors and 
returned with their strength.” 

“Your ancestors are gone,” said 
Thornton quietly. “The old cities 
are crumbled in ruin, and your kin 
of Mars is dust on a lonely wind.” 
“So we feared, so we feared. We 
had hoped — But no matter.” Again 
the undying will which had defied 
time and space and death, which had 
vanquished worlds and crossed the 
stars. “If Mars is indeed dead, if 
only the wind stirs between the 
hollow bones of the old ones, then 
still we have not come in vain. We 
know. We will bring back the knowl- 
edge of what happened to Kiarios, 
and our race will again have the 
past that it must have for its sanity. 
And on old Mars we will raise a 
cenotaph, and some day others will 
come to restore her.” 

“I wonder what the colonial com- 
missions of our respective planets 
will think of that,” muttered Henry 
in an aside to Uincozuma. 




78 



FVTVRE combined with SCIENCE FtCTtON STORIES 



The Venusian grinned, “Unless the 
Martians will sign a thousand forms 
in triplicate, they won’t like it,” he 
said. Then suddenly, almost wist- 
fully; “Damn it. Earthling, I like 
you; we’re two sane men against a 
thing from outside older than all 
our races’ memories. It’s too bad I 
have to destroy you.” 

“Or I you,” said Henry and added 
bleakly: “Or the Martians both of 
us.” 

5 

T hornton was talking to the 
Martian again, rapidly, and 
Henry saw the beaked face 
suddenly alive with an expression 
of — horror, disgust, almost hatred. 
Then steely control clamped down 
once more, it was again the face of 
an impersonal judging god, but for 
that instant Henry knew he had 
looked on death. 

Uincozuma must have caught 
that fleeting glimpse. He leaned for- 
ward in the screen and said sudden- 
ly, softly and hurriedly; “That thing 
may be dangerous to both of us. 
Captain Henry.” 

“It may indeed.” Glancing out, the 
Earthling saw the Venusian cruiser 
against the Milky Way. It was near, 
quite near, its shark form lay across 
the sky in deadly menace. It 
dwarfed the Bolivar. But its mass 
was insignificant beside the locwn- 
ing bulk of the Delphis, even 
though — even though the Martian 
vessel was so strangely empty — ^ 
“The Martians are unpredictable,” 
said Uincozuma. “They may decide 
to sterilize our respective planets as 
a precautionary measure, or simply 
because our races don’t fit their 
moral standards. At the very least, 
they may sneak undetected out of 
the Solar System — but that would 
mean destroying the Xiucuayotl and 
the Bolivar lest we carry word of 
their visit back to our planets.” 

“I don’t like it,” admitted Henry. 
He cast an uneasy glance over ^ at 
Thornton and Herakon. The Martian 
was speaking now, slowly and 
weightily, and there was a tighten- 
ing in the archeologist’s gaunt face 



which showed that even his paci- 
fistic fanaticism was being shaken. 

“You have guns, of course?” Uin- 
cozuma’s urgent voice came harshly 
in his ears. “Stand by to turn them 
on the Martian, if the need arises. 
I’ll go after those tubes or whatever 
they are at the stern — must be part 
of her drive, we may be able to dis- 
able her. Between us, we might be 
able to stand off, or capture her.” 
"And then have you open up on 
us, so that only Venus will know?” 
bristled Henry. “Nothin’ doing. 
Commander; it’s Earth that comes 
first with me.” 

“I admire your patriotism,” said 
Uincozuma, “but it may cost your 
planet its life unless we can stop—” 
Thornton turned and interrupted 
them. His face was very white. “The 
Martians don’t — they don’t like the 
idea of races as young and uncivil- 
ized as ours possessing space travel,” 
he said tensely. “They say our tech- 
nical abilities, far superior even to 
their own, outstrip our social cul- 
ture so greatly that we’re a danger 
to the universe and to ourselves — ” 
Henry could not resist a barbed 
answer to the aristocrat who had 
snubbed him during the many 
months: “Isn’t that what you’ve 

been saying all along?” 

“Yes, but — I never thought — the 
Martians are outsiders! Herakon 
says they think we shouldn’t have 
the science we do. He says we may 
even find a way to travel faster 
than light, which the Martians know 
is theoretically possible but which 
they’ve never managed to put into 
practice — and then the whole Galaxy 
is in danger from us!” 

“And what they think should be, 
has a nasty habit of coming to pass,” 
murmured Uincozuma. “What do 
they propose to do now?” 

“Their ship still represents a 
greater power than all the combined 
might of Earth and Venus.” Thorn- 
ton’s voice was thick now, and he 
was shivering violently. “They’re go- 
ing to go on into the inner system 
and see for themselves. If matters 
are as I’ve described — and they are 
— I told the truth; I thought they’d 
understand — I thought their old 



THE LONG RETURN 



79 



wisdom would bring peace to us — *' 
“You’re a romantic,” said Uinco- 
zuma, with a sardonic humor that 
somehow increased Henry’s reluc- 
tant liking for him. That the Venu- 
sian could smile, however wryly, in 
this moment — “You thought be- 
cause the Martians weren’t actively 
aggressive that they were a race of 
gods or saints. They aren’t; in some 
ways, they’re crueler than we. 
They’re certainly just as selfish in 
protecting themselves, or just as un- 
reasonable when their morals have 
been offended.” His voice rapped 
out: “What will they do?” 

“They’ll force us. Earth and 
Venus, to blow up all our machines, 
burn all our books, go back to bar- 
barism — or else they’ll rain fire from 
the sky till we do it anyway!” 

“We — shall — see!” The Venusian’s 
eyes narrowed. Suddenly he was 
snapping orders in his gutteral na- 
tive' tongue. 

“They’re going to attack the Del- 
phis” choked Thornton. “Oh, no — ” 
“Why not?” asked Henry grimly. 
“More power to them.” But he made 
no move toward his own intercom. 

“But aren’t you — won’t you 
help—” 

“No, you fool! Let the Venusians 
exhaust themselves against the Mar- 
tians; we may find our own chance 
somev/here in the scramble, to come 
out on top of both the others.” 

“You incredible scoundrel — ” 
Thornton took a step forward, the 
breath rattling in his throat. “The 
Venusians are our allies, fighting 
for Sol against this — invader — and 
you stand coldly by and let them die 
for — Earth — ” He balled his fists. 

M ENRY stopped the clumsy 
lunge with contemptuous ease. 
His big hands seized Thornton’s 
skinny wrists and pulled the taller 
man around with brutal force. “Shut 
up and behave yourself!” growled 
the captain. “You’ve made enough 
trouble already with your damned 
self-righteousness; you’re no better 
than the Martians. I’m for Earth 
first and last and forever, because 
it’s my planet, my home, my wife 



and kids there — and to hell with 
the rest of the universe!” 

“That’s the sort of narrowness 
which has ruined — Oh, Godf* 
Thornton’s voice was almost a 
scream. 

Henry saw the Xiucuayotl sweep 
in for the attack. He saw fire streak 
from her sides, a hailing hell of 
shells and torpedoes and blistering 
atomic-nitrogen flames, radioactive 
gas and saw nuclear energy, a ship- 
ruining barrage that would have left 
any Solarian craft in molten wreck- 
age. And he saw the bombardment 
strike the dim blue haze around the 
Delphis and explode in a blue-white 
ravenousness of incandescent power. 

Sight came back as the dazzle 
swirled raggedly away from his 
eyes. The Delphis loomed enormous- 
ly, untouched, scatheless. Henry 
heard a voice choking, and was 
vaguely aware that it was his own: 
“They have the energy screen. Our 
own physicists think it may be pos- 
sible, a screen of pure energy, im- 
penetrable to matter — and the Mar- 
tians have it; they’ve had it for a 
hundred thousand years — ” 

Herakon spoke, harshly and curt- 
ly, and Thornton’s frightened eyes 
went to Uincozuma’s taut face. 
“Having showed you — their defen- 
sive strength — ” he mumbled, 
“they’ll now show you — as little — of 
their offensive power — ” 

The Venusian snarled scanething 
inarticulate. It was terrible to see 
the high pride of invincibility 
crumbling in him. 

And from the Delphis sprang a 
long finger of light, pure white 
light like a living sunbeam, and al- 
most caressingly it felt out along 
the Xiucuayotl. Where it touched, 
steel puffed into vapor and open 
wounds gaped in the armored hull. 
There was no puff of air from those 
bulkheaded compartments; the air 
must have exploded outward at velo- 
cities too great for visibility, and 
every being in those sections must 
be dead, cooked in his spacesuit — 

Invincible, impregnable, with a 
hundred thousand years of science 
behind her, the Delphis could sail 
through space and not all the weap- 



80 



FUTURE combined with SCIENCE FICTION STORIES 



ons that Earth and Venus together 
could hurl at her would change that 
inexorable course. She could hover 
beyond a planet’s atmosphere, and 
that beam of living energy could 
slash across continents and explode 
cities into white-hot gas, and civi- 
lization would crash to nothing. 

But damn it, damn it, the ship 
was only one vessel, it was one hol- 
low vessel, all but empty — it wasn’t 
reasonable that — 

INCOZUMA’S haggard eyes 
sought Henry’s. The Venusian 
was trembling with rage and grief 
and the dawn of fear. He said, very 
slowly and bitterly: "We had best 
start to bargain with them. Captain 
Henry.” 

“Yes — no — ^w a i t — ” The Earth- 
ling’s gaze swung back to meet the 
bright gold of Herakon’s. There was 
something funny about that Martian. 
He wasn’t the judging god any long- 
er, however hard he tried to be; he 
was just a shade too tense and eager 
himself. Could it be — 

A hollow ship five hundred light- 
years from home, facing two alien 
races of incredible technical skill, 
races which might have done almost 
anything in the long time since they 
had been left behind — How would 
you feel. Moss Henry? How’d you 
like to be up against that? 

Wait — wait! No, by Heaven! 

Could it be— COULD IT BE— 

His hands were shaking so badly 
that he could hardly grasp pencil 
and paper. He had to figure now; 
he had to think as coolly and clear- 
ly as man had ever thought before — 
and that under the lash of time, with 
a finger of pure energy waiting to 
reach out and touch him — Stall them 
off! Stall them both! 

“Thornton,” he said, “ask the Mar- 
tians if all their weapons are energy 
weapons.” 

“Why — ^well — all right.” the arche- 
ologist turned back to the stranger. 
He had the look of an utterly beaten 
man. Presently he looked around 
again. 

“Herakon says yes, as far as this 
ship is concerned. After all. The 
Delphi's did not come expecting to 



fight anybody. He sees no harm in 
admitting that all the defensive and 
offensive strength of this vessel 
comes from the main drive-convert- 
ers. And he adds that they have 
many forms of energy weapons other 
than what they have just shown us.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Damn it, what 
are those Einstein formulas now? 
Ah, yes — but my math is pretty 
rusty — “Okay — Uincozuma!” 

“Yes?” It was a dull tone; the 
Venusian hadn’t admitted defeat yet, 
but he saw no hope of victory. 

“Run for Venus. Highest accelera- 
tion your ship and crew can stand.” 

“Run? But why — ” 

“Carry word back, if nothing else. 
Not that the Martians won’t let you, 
in the present situation, but — ^well — 
get out of range of their energy 
beam. Now! You’ll still be in radio 
range. Quick!” 

“Well — ” Uincozuma smiled bitter- 
ly. “I suppose it’s best. It will save 
one Imperial ship, to smash itself 
later against that screen. But 
you — ?” 

“I’ll come as soon as I can. Hav- 
ing a little engine trouble right 
now. I don’t think that beam is ef- 
fective at more than fifty thousand 
miles. If you can get that far, you’ll 
be safe.” 

“But Venus won’t — 

“Get going!” 

Uincozuma nodded, wearily. In his 
own indecision, the effect of a life- 
time of naval discipline was to make 
him obey an authoritative voice. He 
gave his orders, and in moments the 
Xiucuayotl was splashing the void 
with rocket fire. 

Henry worked on, unobtrusively 
computing. Damn that integration! 
The mass-velocity formula — “Hera- 
kon wants to know why the Venu- 
sian is fleeing,” said Thornton. 

Uincozuma bristled in the screen. 
Henry smiled humorlessly. "Oh, tell 
him it’s to get word to his home 
planet as quickly as possible; he 
shouldn’t care.” 

“He doesn’t. The Delphis will be 
starting to accelerate for the inner 
planets soon. He wants you to give 
him figures for computing an orbit 
to Mars.” 




THE LONG RETURN 



81 



ENRY FROWNED. “I will, in 
a minute.” He finished his cal- 
culation, and nodded. It worked. Yes, 
it worked. But he felt no special 
triumph; the hardest, most desperate 
gamble was just starting. 

“Thornton,” he said suddenly, 
"sprechen Sie Deutsch?” 

“Eh?” The archeologist blinked, 
wondering if the madness of crumb- 
ling dreams had not also fallen on 
the captain. “Do I — do I speak Ger- 
man? No — ^but you — ” 

“You didn’t think a dumb space- 
hound would know any foreign lan- 
guage? I know a few. I learned Ger- 
man to read Goethe in the original. 
But no matter — I’ll have to take a 
longer chance — Habla usted espa- 
nol?” 

“Si, naturalmente. Per o — pot 

que — ?” 

“It gives us a secret language,” 
said Henry in Spanish, “unless Uin- 
cozuma knows it too, which is pos- 
sible but doubtful.” He glanced at 
the screen, but the Venusian was too 
busy with commands to pay them 
any attention. “The Latin units of 



the Terrestrial fleet usually use En- 
glish except aboard their own craft. 

“Now listen — I’m about to pull the 
most colossal bluff in all history. 
If it works, we might still have a 
chance to salvage something — ^we 
may even end up a little better off 
than we were. If it doesn’t — the 
Bolivar is finished, but Earth is in 
no worse fix. Not that it could be.” 
Henry smiled thinly. “But you’ve 
got to be my interpreter with Hera- 
kon. No matter what I say, you’ve 
got to look unsurprised and render 
it exactly into Martian. Got it?” 

“I — yt&.” Thornton nodded, scmie- 
thing of his self-possession return- 
ing to him. He isn’t a bad fellow, 
thought Henry. He’s just been living 
too long in his own ideal dream- 
world. 

"Okay. Now — Uincozuma.” The 

Venusian’s image was getting a lit- 
tle fainter and blurrier on the screen 
with distance, but it was still clear 
enough. “Are you out of energy 
beam range?” 

The voice was tight with the 
strain of brutal accelerations: “Not 
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82 



FUTURE eombin«d with SCtENCE FiCTION STORIES 



quite, I think. But I should soon 
be.” 

“Now look, Uincozuma. That 
Martian ship is powerful enough to 
destroy our combined fleets and lay 
waste our home planets — and it in- 
tends to, for its own safety and its 
people’s. We may be able to bar- 
gain. The Martains aren’t devils; 
they’ll agree to any proposal which 
looks reasonable to them. But it 
must guarantee them absolute safe- 
ty from us.” 

“To be sure. Have you any sug- 
gestion?” 

“I have a vague sort of idea kick- 
ing around in my head, but we’ll 
have to bluff and bargain. In the 
end, of course, we’ll have to yield 
to whatever they say; theirs is the 
final word. But I just might be able 
to trick them into thinking we’re 
more powerful than we really are.” 

“How?” 

“I’d rather not say, just now. It’s 
too nebulous in my own head. I just 
want you to back me up in what- 
ever I may do or say. Don’t look 
surprised, whatever it is.” 



Uincozuma sat pondering while 
the seconds fled by, and with each 
instant his dwindling ship was far- 
ther away, safer from destruction. 
At last he nodded. “Why not? I’ll 
do it. Captain Henry; somehow, I 
trust you.” 

“Good!” Henry grinned, almost 
wolfishly, as he faced back to Thorn- 
ton and said in Spanish : “I wonder 
what our dear green friend will say 
when he finds how we’re" going to 
use his trust?” 

“You mean you’d betray him — for 
Earth’s advantage — ” 

“I told you I’m first and foremost 
an Earthman. But now to the Mar- 
tians. Tell Herakon that I’ve 
guessed his secret. Tell him that the 
Xiucuayotl is safe from him now, 
bearing word of his fatal weakness 
back to Earth and Venus.” 

“What?” 

“You heard me. Quick, now! And 
for the love of mercy, don’t look so 
astonished. Act natural!” 

T hornton looked shakily to- 
ward the screen and rattled 
[Turn To Page 87] 



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There’s an old Spanish proverb: 
“Let the people laugh so long as I 
am comfortable.” 

Welcome, welcome, welcome to the 
science fiction parade! There’s a 
special thrill in picking up Volume 
1, Number 1 of a new magazine de- 
voted to our favorite art. It’s a bit 
like being a god-father; with the 
pleasure of looking down on the 
lusty brat come sober thoughts and 
hopeful schemes for his future 
greatness. May your magazine grow 
up to be great — and many happy re- 
turns! 

Let me say this on the outset: 
you’re off to a fine start, and there 
is lots of room for improvement. 
Which is as it should be. Let’s start 
with your name, Future. I think it is 
a happy choice, one with plenty 
of scope and appeal — and something 
to live up to. 

About that mast-head : it’s austere 
simplicity is not without appeal, but 
why don’t you give it a distinctive 
background, mat or frame to set it 
off from the rest of the cover? 
Which brings us to that eternal 
Waterloo of the serious science fic- 
tion fan who likes to think of his 



hobby as something possessed of a 
considerably higher IQ than “Kol- 
lossal Krime Komiks”, or such. Most 
science fiction art editors seem to 
belong to a secret conspiracy (doubt- 
lessly inspired by the scheming pur- 
ple spider-men of Arcturus) designed 
to force the purchaser of the maga- 
zine to carry it about hidden in a 
plain wrapper, or to slink around 
with it furtively, nursing a giant- 
sized guilt complex. You^s is' no 
exception. Bergey’s cover on your 
first issue is painfully stereotyped, 
for all its slick technique. Please try 
an intelligent cover just once (per- 
haps you could even get Bonestall 
to do one for you?) and watch the 
reaction. 

Your inside illustrations are gener- 
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least in my issue, they seem to have 
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FVTimE combined with SCiE\CE FiCTiON STOitlES 







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Of course, the only real test of 
your mettle lies in your stories. 
Here’s where you show true promise 
— and no wonder, with such talent. 
Most of your stories seem to run to 
the fast-action adventure type, but 
within that class they’re well above 
average. Here, briefly, is how I rate 
them : 

1. “Battle of the Unborn” (Blish) 
— this one is different, and despite 
a confusingly foreshortened ending, 
somehow cuts deepest of the lot. 

2. “Nobody Saw The Ship” (Lein- 
ster) — the old master turns out a 
polished little opus without too 
much apparent effort. There are 
some “bugs” in its logic (pardon the 
pun) and it's just a bit too imper- 
sonal, at times, but it’s good none- 
theless. 

3. A tie (a) “Dynasty of the Lost” 
(Smith) — a good old-f ashioned 
action-packed yarn built around fa- 
miliar themes, though the title seems 
a bit far-fetched. 

And (b) “Imitation of Death” 
(del Rey) — proves that Lester can do 
it as well as Smith, given a few 
well-tried ideas, using less space to 
do it. 

4. “Parking, Unlimited” (Loomis) 
— a well-paced, if not overly imagi- 
native bit of science fiction humor. 
Always welcome, particularly where 
— as here — it is not too heavy-hand- 
ed. 

5. “The Miniature Menace” (Long) 

— as Smith and del Rey proved, an 
old-time recipe, sparingly used, can 
still be served piping hot as an ap- 
petizing dish. But a spendthrift loose 
in the pantry comes up with an in- 
digestible concoction : mutants, 

clairvoyance, space patrol, alien in- 
vaders, amazon jungles, telepaths, 
and (heaven preserve us) the Wizard 
of Oz — ugh! Not badly written, but 
definitely overdone. Try again, 
Frank ! 

No features as yet — ^but that may 
come in time as you grow. All in all, 
a good start. May you go on to bring 
us in days to come what all mankind 
hopes for; an ever-better Future I 

Edgar Paul Boyko 

274S-29th Street, N. W.. 

Washington 8, D. C. 

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Minority report — 

I am rery glad to see your atm 
magazine. W1& its low price, it can 
provide excellent competition wltii 
other science fiction pulps. 

As to the stories in your first is- 
sue; you had an excellent line-up 
of writers. In fact, if I had just read 
the title page, and no further, I 
would have guessed it to be an ex- 
cellent issue. However, 1 read the 
stories — ^this was a big mistake. Tha 
short stories were, with the excep- 
tion of “Parking, Unlimited”, clash- 
tered. There was too much of evesy- 
thing but a clear-cut story line^ 
Loomis’ short was moderately amii»- ^ 
ing. 

The novelets were better. Lein- 
ster’s was rather good, but almost 
from the beginning we were told 
that the insects would bring the 
alien to his defeat. The main fault 
with Long’s and Smith’s stories was 
in the character development I won- 
der why Smith didn’t play up the 
idea of the machine searching for its 
god — that is, that which gave it life 
and a purpose with humanities 
search for its God. The three best 
stories were “Dynasty of the Lost”, 
“Nobody Saw the Ship”, and “Park- 
ing, Unlimited”. 

The cover is typical Bergey. 1 
don’t especially like it, but I sup- 
pose that it will sell the magazine. 

I perfer covers similar to those on 
“Other Worlds” or “Astounding”. 

If you ever use short science arti- 
cles as fillers, please make sure that 
they are factual; some of your com- 
petitors don’t. They present tlie 
screwiest articles as fact. 

I would like to change the subject 
and ask a question. What is science 
fiction? If I write a store about a 
group of people in a plane flying 
the Atlantic ocean, with motors fail- 
ing so that the ship will most likely 
crash into the water, it would not 
be science fiction. If I had written 
it 40 years ago, it would have been 
science fiction. If I write a story to- 
day about a similar situation in a 
space ship between Earth and Mars, 
it is science fiction. But if I write 
a story today about animals that 
live in caves under the earth and try 
ITwm. To Page 9t] 





THE LONC RETURN 



tr 



IConUnued From Pago sa] 
forth a string of harsh sounds. Hen- 
ry reflected irrelevantly on how 
peculiarly expressive the Martian 
language was. It had sung and wept 
with joy and sorrow, now it snarled 
with menace — it might not be a 
bad common tongue for all the 
planets. Someday. 

Herakon was shaken. For a mo- 
ment his hands lifted like eagle’s 
talons; Henry quivered in expecta- 
tion of the flame that would devour 
him — With a supreme effort, the 
Martian mastered himself. When he 
spoke, through Thornton, it was 
coldly and calmly. 

“He asks—” 

“In Spanish, man, in Spanish!” 

“He asks what you are talking 
about; he says you must be mad.” 

“Then ask him if the relativistic 
equations are mad. Tell him I know 
he’s been bluffing us. He ran his 
ship up to a speed that brought his 
own time rate up to ten times that 
of the outside universe. But by 
Einstein’s formulas, the ship’s mass 
must have increased in the same pro- 
portion. That mass — his kinetic cn- 
ergy — could only have come from 
fuel carried along. An immense 
amount of fuel, especially if you al- 
low for his having to decelarate, too, 
and for his power requirements en 
route. When he started, over ninety 
percent of his ship’s total mass must 
have been fuel. 

"But his ship is almost empty now. 
That means he must have used up 
alniost all his fuel getting here. He 
can’t leave the Solar System till he 
gets more. He must be running on 
his last reserves of energy — and all 
his weapons, with their fantastic 
power needs, have to run off that 
store too. 

“He can’t stand off Earth and 
Venus; he’s been bluffing! He can, 
at best, destroy a large percentage of 
an attacking fleet — ^but in the end 
his screens must go down, his pro- 
jectors must go dark, and he will lie 
helpless before us. 

"And Uincozuma is now out of 
range of his weapons, bearing the 
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word of his weakness back to the 
united inner planets!” 

Thornton spoke, the words stum- 
bling over themselves in their haste, 
and for an instant Henry looked on 
utter despair waging a devil’s war 
with a blind destroying fury in the 
Martian’s eyes. Herakon snapped one 
grim command, and the awful flames 
leaped out — out, out, after the Xiu- 
cuayotl at the speed of light — ^but 
even their raging fury was swal- 
lowed by the sheer distance. 

Uincozuma’s hard face smiled 
bleakly in the telescreen. “Our ship’s 
getting hot,” he said, “But it’s not 
worse than the refrigerating units 
can handle. What did you say to 
him, Henry?” 

“I think I got him a little peeved,” 
grinned the Earthling tightly. “But 
he’ll cool off. Just tell Thornton to 
tell Herakon that you’re one hundred 
percent with us. Tell the Martians 
to start talking turkey — fast!” 

“Consider it said,” nodded Uinco- 
zuma, and Thornton conveyed the 
word. The searching energy beams 
died. 

“It’s no good trying to destroy 
the Bolivar,” said Henry to Hera- 
kon, via the Spanish language. “You 
cam do it, of course, but you can’t 
fight the SoIeu: System. However, 
Earth and Venus arerPt the mindless- 
ly destructive barbarians you think. 
We’re perfectly willing to bargain. 
It would be the greatest loss we have 
ever sustained, if you destroyed 
yourselves and your knowledge. Not 
that it would do any good. Sooner 
or later, we’d come looking for you, 
probably in faster-then light ships. 
Best you make a friendly agreement 
now, between mutually respectful 
equals. 

M ERAKON spoke, slowly, and 
there was defeat and despair 
in his tones. Thornton rendered it 
into Spanish; “You will never be 
satisfied, I see, until you have our 
scientific knowledge, which your 
own perverted ingenuity will quick- 
ly apply far more effectively than 
we ever could. But how can children 
grasp such powers without ruining 
themselves and the rest of the Gal- 
axy? Best you give us fuel to go, 



THE LONG RETURN 



89 



lest you learn too much for your 
own good. Or best we smash every- 
thing in our ship, and kill ourselves, 
as you suggest. It will be for your 
own race’s good too.” 

“Knowledge is never evil,” said 
Henry, “but sometimes it needs con- 
trol. I admit that there are factions 
on Earth and Venus who should 
not be allowed to get possession of 
these new powers. But that can be 
arranged. 

“Suppose, for instance, that Earth 
and Venus set up a council with 
control over the new powers, a coun- 
cil empowered and enjoined to keep 
peace in the Solar System. It would 
keep that peace, since nothing could 
stand up against its weapons; there- 
fore it could as well be given con- 
trol of all military forces, and 
would be. If it were set up demo- 
cratically, giving each planet a 
chance to attain its ends peacefully, 
war would become obsolete. And if 
Mars — Kiarios — sent representatives 
with an equal voice on the council, 
since you would be in on the scien- 



your own interests would be safe- 
guarded. You would, in face, benefit, 
tific advances that will be made with 
the old Martian knowledge as a ba- 
sis. 

“And there need never be war.” 

Herakon sat quietly, digesting it, 
his strange golden eyes lost in 
thought. And Thornton looked with 
suddenly shining eyes on Henry and 
gasped; “You! You, the narrow pa- 
triot, are the one who thought how 
to get peace — ** 

“I’m still a provincial,” said Hen- 
ry tiredly. “I’ll always put ‘myself, 
my wife, and my little Harvey with 
the bandy legs’ first. But — ^well, I 
have enough common sense to know 
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that war is not the best solution lor 
anyone concerned.” 

Uincozuira spoke, slowly and sus- 
piciously : “What are you two talk- 
ing in that language for? What are 
you plotting?” 

“Plots,” grinned Henry. “And 
what are you going to do about k?” 
“Nothing — now! But if you’ve be- 
trayed Zamandar — ” 

Herakon spoke, gravely, and 
Thornton listened long before he 
said to Henry: “Briefly, he agrees to 
the proposal. He says it involves a 
certain risk, but that the gains for 
Kiarios and all other worlds are 
great enough to outweigh that. He’ll 
go through with it. And — he com- 
pliments us. He says perhaps he mis- 
judged our races.” 

“Well, tell him that there are ele- 
ments on both planets who’ll oppose 
the solution. Tell him he’ll have to 
continue his bluff, that we’ll have 
to spread an official story of the 
Martians forcing us, for our own 
good, to make this treaty. Once his 
ship is refueled and really invinci- 
ble, we can let out the truth; in the 
meantime the concept of the Mar- 
tains as the all-powerful altruists 
will be useful.” 

“Won’t others guess the secret as 
you did?” 

“They may. But there isn’t too 
much danger. Your despised 'mili- 
tarists’ aren’t as bloodthirsty as you 
think. I believe it’ll work.” 

H enry turned to Uincozuma. 

“Herakon has agreed to a com- 
promise,” he said. “He’ll let our civ- 
ilizations live. But he’ll need ade- 
quate guarantees against any danger 
we carry; that means a control coun- 
cil for the new powers, with the 
Martians having an equal voice with 
Earth and Venus. It means — ^the end 
of war, Uincozuma.” 

“Well — ” The aristocrat looked, 
briefly, glum. Henry thought wryly 
that he v/as out of a job now. “Well 
— I suppose we have very little 
choice. I’ll carry his word to my 
planet.” 

“Good. I’ll go to Earth. And we’ll 
all meet the Delphis again, some- 
where off Mars.”